Whether By Life or Death
by Myth Queen
Summary: Clint Barton and a deaged Loki are captured by bounty hunters. After they escape, Loki shuts down due to trauma from torture and Clint must take care of him while trying to find a way back to earth. Rated M for torture, violence, and mature subject matter; no graphic sexual content. AU spinoff of my fic "The Path to Hell and Redemption" splitting at chapter 22 but can be read alone
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own no Marvel characters or species or anything that Marvel owns, really.**

**PS. The drawing is mine, and the uploading schedule is at the end of the chapter after my author's note.**

**#**

_ One thousand. Nine hundred and ninety-three. Nine hundred and eighty-six._

Clint clenched his fists as he listened to the jeering laughter and strangled screams coming from above him. The in-floor cage the aliens had stuffed in him was tiny; his legs were cramped against his chest, a metal grate cutting into the flesh of his back, his feet flexed up in front of him, his tendons stretched to the point it was no longer painful. It was so narrow that he had to hold his arms crossed in front of his chest. All he could do was to carefully count back from a thousand by the sevens while watching the minutes tick by on his digital watch.

Funny that he got to keep it.

The cage next to his was empty. Hours ago it contained Loki curled into a tight ball, his face hidden in his arms, so silent that Clint thought he was trying to smother himself.

Then the bounty hunters had opened the metal grating to Loki's cell. They had dragged him out and threw him onto a metal table on the far side of the cargo bay. The tall, blue-skinned alien crowded around Loki so tightly that Clint couldn't see what they were doing. But he saw the whips and knives and branding irons and heard the screams and knew.

One man - the captain, Clint thought, - stood on the periphery of the group, looking on with idle boredom, intervening occasionally if the others got too rowdy.

It had been like this for months.

"Not so clever are you now?" one of the men crowed.

Clint focused his gaze on his flexed, naked feet, listening to the crack of a whip followed by Loki's high-pitched scream.

"Come on, Silver Tongue, talk your way out of this one! Pry his mouth open," another of the aliens – Ver-Men, the only one besides that captain that came every time- said.

Clint closed his eyes, but he couldn't block out the raucous laughter. Underneath the jeers he heard Loki gagging. He felt sick to his stomach.

"Hold his mouth shut!" Ver-Men ordered. "Swallow it, Silver Tongue. Go on- Or do you like the taste?"

They screamed with laughter.

_ Eight hundred and ninety-five. Eight hundred and eighty-eight._

Suddenly one of the men cried out in pain. "He bit me!"

"Bite him back!"

"Bite his little hand off!"

If he could move, Clint would have considered trying to break out of the iron cage while his captors were distracted.

"Oi, no maiming!" the captain shouted. "He wants the trickster alive and whole. If we ruin his fun, it'll be us that he'll take it on."

There were some moans of disappointment, but soon there was a short scream from Loki and they began laughing again.

"Oh, you don't like that, do you?" the man who had accused Loki of biting him snarled. "Does that hurt? Do you want me to stop or do you want more? Well?"

A branding iron was snatched from the fire and Loki screamed again. The men laughed louder, almost as loud as the scream. They shifted as one, allowing Clint to see the small boy that was Loki on the floor, held in place as they burned him. The spell that had been put on him, before he was returned to earth, before all this, had reduced him to looking like a two-year-old.

It didn't stop his tormenters.

_Six hundred and ninety-nine. Six hundred and ninety-two._

"Use that silver tongue or we'll cut it out, maiming or no maiming!" the man shouted, angry hysteria in his voice.

"He can't talk if you keep making him scream," the captain pointed out.

The sounds above faded, Loki's screams died, the men fell silent. Clint distinctly heard Loki's ragged breaths and moans.

"Well? Do you want me to stop or do you want more?"

"Stop," Loki rasped.

Clint nearly sighed in relief. It never lasted long after Loki started to beg for them to stop.

"What was that?"

"Stop," Loki pleaded, louder, his voice hoarse and broken.

"Hear that, boys? I think he wants us to keep going!"

Clint flinched. No matter how much he hated him, he could not imagine doing the things they were doing to him. Not when he had an adult's face. And never to a child, no matter what mind was in that body.

_Four hundred and eighty-nine. Four hundred and eighty-two._

There was the sound of skin slapping skin, and then a bone breaking, and Loki screamed again.

_"_Stop!Please_ stop! PLEASE!"_

There was a triumphant cry from the man who had been hyping up the crowd. The sound of laughter rose again, almost drowning out Loki's continued screams and begging. Clint glanced up. They were crowded in tighter.

"_**PLEASE**_!"

The captain pushed into the crowd. "Enough! Apply the balm and stick him back in his cage. Make sure you get his face good. The mad titan doesn't want a disfigured prize."

The tight knot of men loosened, slowly dispersing, and Clint saw Loki crumpled on the floor, curling in on himself, shaking, bleeding. One of the men kneeled over the boy. He flinched. He tried to scramble away, but the man caught him. He flipped the little demigod over onto his back and then pinned him in place with one knee. The man dug his fingers into a nearby container and slathered the contents onto Loki's face.

Loki whimpered, trying to turn his head, but the man slapped him hard. The demigod grew very still, and the man continued, slathering his whole body before dragging Loki to his feet and shoving him towards the cells. The overhead grate was opened, and the man kicked Loki down into the cell next to Clint's.

Clint cringed, never getting used to seeing Loki like this. They had stripped him naked after the first time – to prevent him from strangling himself. He didn't know if it was the balm that had been applied to his body or blood, but Loki's skin glowed red. The short, dark hair was matted with it. Welts, cuts, burns and bruises were clearly visible under the blood, and his arm sat at a distinctly broken angle.

Loki's body heaved and he vomited. It was mostly liquid, spewing out of the small body until there was nothing left, but it didn't stop. The dry heaving retches were horrible to listen to. Clint tried not to watch.

The tiny cell, too small for a full-grown man, was still barely big enough for Loki to curl up into a ball, his back towards Clint. His body shook silently.

_ Three hundred and thirty-five. Three hundred and twenty-eight._

Once again, Clint found himself wishing that the bars between their prisons were wide enough for him to fit his arm through. Nobody deserved this. If he could have, Clint would have reached through to Loki and saved him with the snap of his neck.

"Aw, the widdle baby's cwying," Ver-Men said, coming over to laugh some more at the toddler demigod. Catching Clint's look, the man's grin widened. "What? Are you angry, human? Go ahead and say it. Maybe you'd like to take his place next time. The titan only wants him, not you. I'd bite off your hand... You want to see what else I would do?"

Clint returned his gaze to the blank wall ahead of him, gritting his teeth and remaining silent.

_ Two hundred and fifty-eight. Two hundred and fifty-one._

The captain suddenly appeared and grabbed the man by the collar. "I told you before, leave the human alone unless you want to pay the going price!"

Ver-Men hissed under his breath a moment, but squirmed out of the captain's grasp. Straightening his ragged uniform, he gave one last leer at Clint and then left. The captain watched him go and then crouched down to peer through the grating at Loki. He shook his head.

"I'd let them kill you and save you the pain, Loki, but every man has his price and the Titan knew mine," he said, more gently than Clint had expected. "I don't envy what you'll go through when we make the delivery. Perhaps it will not be so bad if you're already broken? Probably not."

_ Ninety-seven. Ninety._

"I did warn you what would happen if you kept crossing the Kree. We are not a forgiving people. You brought this on yourself." The captain stood. "We'll be docking to refuel in a few weeks. You'll have a few days' respite then. They'll find other entertainment while we're land-side. Enjoy it while you can, trickster, although until we get there-"

Loki curled into himself tighter.

The captain glanced at Clint then. "You'll be out of that cage soon enough, human. You'll need time to recover your strength before you go to auction. Nobody wants a crippled slave."

Clint glared at him until he walked away, and then looked through the grating at Loki's tiny, shivering body again.

_Six. One thousand. Nine hundred and ninety-three._

#

**Okay, hello everybody! Long time since the last chapter of The Path to Hell and Redemption went up, so I'd like to let you all know some things.**

**1. This is a AU spinoff from 'Redemption' breaking off in chapter 22.**

**2. This is AU from the movie series, breaking off after the end of 'The Avengers.**

**3. I do have more comic book stuff in this than I did Redemption, but basically only the different species.**

**4. In this universe, Clint had a little sister named Cindy that was murdered when she was three. He has no other family.**

**5. I am making up a back story for how Clint joined SHIELD and how he got Natasha into SHIELD that will be told through flashbacks. I'm going off what little has been said in the movies, and any similarities to the comics is purely accidental.**

**6. This is rated M for a reason. There won't be graphic sexual content, I will not be giving warning for any torture/gore/death on individual chapters.**

**7. Chapters will vary in size; some will be shorter, others will be longer.**

**8. Unlike for Redemption, I will not be giving virtual gifts to reviewers, mainly because this is of such a serious nature I couldn't think of any.**

So without further ado, the schedule for Part 1.

Chapter 1: February 1

Chapter 2: February 8

Chapter 3: February 15

Chapter 4: February 22

Chapter 5: March 1

Chapter 6: March 8

Chapter 7: March 15

Chapter 8: March 22

Chapter 9: March 29

Chapter 10: April 5

Chapter 11: April 12

Part 2's schedule will be presented at the end of Chapter 11. There may or may not be a two week at that time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, GlOmP3R, Thursday's Child-1297, Oriana8, Daisainan Neko, Summer Leigh Wind, Suheyla, and Rivermoongoddessqueen for their reviews.**

**#**

The cuts, bruises and burns healed quickly. In only five hours since Loki was tossed back into his cage, the only evidence of the torture he had gone through was the angle at which his arm hung and the blood that caked his skin. He still lay on his side, scratching at the metal collar that circled his neck. Clint bet that it kept him young, prevented him from using magic. He had been wearing it when Clint had first woken up in this cage.

Clint scratched at the bushy beard sprouting on his chin, remembering how they had both ended up as prisoners of these Kree bounty hunters.

_ Thor and Loki faced each other on the roof of a tall building by the bay in New York. Clint was on a nearby roof. He lay flat on his stomach, fingers curled around his bow. _Can't fire with Thor there._ He imagined the arrow piercing Loki's eye, grimly ignoring the fifteen-year-old face he saw, remembering the man who had mutilated his mind._

I first killed when I was ten. Even children with children's minds can be dangerous.

_ Loki stood on the edge of the building, trembling, ready to jump. Clint wondered if he'd make the water or if he's splat on the pavement. Like a bug on the windshield. Splat. Thor's hand was outstretched, as though that could prevent Loki from splatting. But he was powerless._

A powerless god. That's irony for you.

_ Loki looked down at the ground and back at Thor. Clint held his field glasses to his eyes, bring Loki's face close enough to read his lips._

_ "I don't need you or your promises."_

_ Loki jumped._

_ Clint waited for the splat, following him down…_

_ And cursed when there was a splash instead._

_ Thor rushed to the edge of the building, summoned his hammer, and dived after Loki. As soon as he disappeared, Loki emerged. He pulled himself onto the dock and began running._

_ Clint reached for his earpiece to call it in. He stopped. What would happen if they caught Loki? Not justice. Justice could only come by one hand. Or two, around his throat…_

_ Clint jumped to his feet and hooked a rope onto the top of the building, repelling down the side. He disconnected and landed with a thud on the pavement. Made a beeline for the street opposite him. Loki's wet trail was easily followed. Pulled out the earpiece. _Won't be needing that.

_ Emerged onto a busy street to see Loki taken down by a bicycle. For once the crazies were useful. _Too many people; can't risk a shot_. Loki scrambled to his feet, glanced behind. Saw Clint. Gazes met. Clint saw that Loki knew there would be no mercy._

_ Loki dodged into an alley, Clint close behind. First arrow- wide by an inch. Loki pounded through a door. Follow. Door swinging shut, slam it open. Building dark except emergency lights. Loki's footsteps. Follow. Stairs- leap down, landing lightly on the grating. An echoing slam; footsteps stopped._

Proceed with caution_. Arrow fitted, bowstring taut._

_ The footsteps started again. Clint threw caution to the wind. He burst through a door in time to see Loki skid to a stop in a dead-end room. Trapped. Clint fired, Loki spun away, arrow skimming through his hair; his arm snapped out to full length. Clint's training kicked in and he dodged to one side. A knife blade grazed his neck and split the bowstring. _Lucky shot.

_ The two leapt at each other, clashing mid-air. Loki was quick; he dodged a blow and landed two of his own before spinning out of reach again. Not as strong as Clint, but stronger than the child he looked like._

_ One blow landed, one missed. Kick; foot meets air. Arm around neck, fist to kidneys. Reach for his head- _slippery little_- his only advantage was speed…_

Not enough.

_ Clint caught Loki's head with a stunning blow. Loki stumbled; Clint pressed his advantage, planting a fist to stomach, chest, face. Loki fell to one knee, grunting with pain. _Go for the kill._ Loki kicked out, knocking one leg from under Clint. Didn't matter. Clint used the weight of his body to bring down his enemy. Loki landed only one more blow before Clint was kneeling over his chest, hands around his neck, pressing down hard._

_ Loki's arms were too short to reach Clint's face to gouge out his eyes; his fingers too weak to break Clint's grip; he punched the ribs, the side; no effect. His face was turning red. His eyes widened; he knew he was about to die. No mercy. His body bucked, his hands gripped Clint's arms, trying to free himself; and then he went still. He trembled for a moment and then very deliberately laid his arms down on the floor. Surrender._

_ No mercy._

_ Did Coulson have the same fear in his eyes when he knew he was going to die?_

No mercy.

_Clint tightened his grip. Loki closed his eyes._

_ And then an arm caught around Clint's throat and dragged him back. Repeated punching to his back, forced down to the floor. He looked up to see a half-dozen aliens. Tall, humanoid, wearing old uniforms, blue skin._

_ Loki gasped and coughed. He pushed himself halfway up, a look of disbelief and terror and Panic coming to his face. One of the aliens stalked over, crouched to eyelevel, said something in a tongue Clint didn't recognize. _No ._ Loki responded by spitting in the alien's face. Alien slammed fist into Loki's face, over and over and over and over and over-_

_ Another alien pried the first one back. Loki's face bled; a mess of blood. His head lolled back and he groaned. The aliens shouted at each other for a moment. Loki began to laugh. Mocking? Insane? No. Desperate. Clint felt a laugh rise in his own throat, Loki's terror feeding the vengeful rage clawing at his mind._

_ Something hard hitting his head. Pain. Blackness._

"How do you know him?" Clint asked abruptly, pulling himself from his memories.

Loki's scratching stopped, but he didn't speak.

"The captain. You know him." Clint waited. Despite being in adjacent cells, the prisoners hadn't spoken to each other since their imprisonment. Perhaps that was why Loki was so reluctant to start now.

"He is – _was_ – a friend."

"What happened to make you not friends?"

"This."

Ah. "Why?"

"Every man has his price."

"And the others? Why do they have so much fun making you scream?"

An almost imperceptible shrug.

"Yes, you do."

"I'm smarter than them."

Meaning he cheated them out of something. "How much?"

"Enough."

Loki slowly pushed himself up, cradling his broken arm against his chest. He stretched his legs out straight – _I still think he does that just to mock me_ – and carefully rested both his hands in his lap, hiding his nakedness. His head was turned away. _Doesn't want me to see his face._

Clint looked down at his naked feet. They had taken his shoes only a few days ago. Loki's hands and arms were small enough to reach through the grating, and Clint had woken from an uneasy doze to see those little hands stealing his laces. He hadn't said anything, but one of the bounty hunters had checked on them before Loki had managed to tie them around his throat. They had beaten him badly for his attempt to escape and rob them of their fun.

"Who is the Mad Titan that they keep talking about?"

Loki didn't reply for a long time. "Doesn't matter. You'll be long gone before they hand me over to him. Although times have changed, Cax-Ure, to be dealing in slaves, considering your history."

Clint looked up sharply to see the captain watching them. The man walked over and sat so he could look down at Loki. "Every man has his price."

Clint frowned at the sad tone. "And what was your price?"

It was Loki who answered. "Tam."

Clint looked at him; he looked at the captain with a blank expression.

"Not just Tam. She will be freed if I deliver you alive and whole, but every scream that tears your throat buys the life of one child in the colony."

"And that is why you added _them_ to your crew?" Loki asked with measured calm. "Because you are too much a coward to break me yourself?"

"Yes," Cax-Ure replied softly. "I still consider us two friends."

"I would rather be considered an enemy."

Clint would, too. Bad enough to be tortured by people who hate you, but by your own friends? He imagined for a moment being forced to hurt Natasha, because there was no other way to save lives-

"When?" Loki asked, his voice flat.

_When what? Ah-_ When would his tormenters return. It was becoming more frequent, more fearsome. Clint looked down at his feet, pressed against the grating. When he was finally allowed out of this cage, would he even be able to walk? He was certain he stank of urine and feces, but it had been so long his nose had grown accustomed to the smell.

"It's been a long time since we've made port. They're bored. I can't promise anything. Perhaps an hour."

Loki pulled his knees to his chest, bowing his head. He closed his eyes, his body tensing, his breath growing ragged.

"I am sorry, Loki."

"Not enough."

Cax-Ure stood. He looked down at Loki for a moment longer and then turned. Loki suddenly sprang as high as he could. His face pressed against the grate and his tiny arm pushed through so that his tiny hand could grab the hem of the captain's trousers.

"Cax!" he cried, his small voice full of desperation. "Please."

Clint's gaze moved to his folded hands. Had it only been months ago when he had wanted them to crush Loki's windpipe for entirely different reasons?

"Please," Loki repeated. "You _don't_ know what he'll do to me. I'd rather stay on this ship forever than face him again. _Please_."

Cax-Ure pulled his leg away from Loki's grip. The coward walked away. Loki slumped back down, his breathing evening again, his brow smoothing. He pulled his knees to his chest, resting his broken arm on them, closing his eyes.

_Every man has his price._ Clint contemplated the demigod. _What was yours?_

#

Clint hated sleeping in the tiny cage. It was never true sleep, but it was deep enough for nightmares to invade his mind. Often he would awaken with a cry of pain as he tried to move only to meet the grating. Sometimes as he came back to consciousness he would catch Loki staring at him, only to look away when the demigod realised that he was awake again. That perhaps was the worst part, and Clint wondered what he had mumbled or screamed in his sleep.

At the moment, though, it was Clint watching Loki sleep, not the other way around. The little demigod had curled up again shortly after Cax had left. Clint always knew when Loki was sleeping or when he was pretending to. In sleep, Loki twitched and trembled and whispered and cried and screamed.

"You promised," he whispered over and over. "You promised."

The doors to the cargo bay opened, and Clint saw some of the blue-skinned aliens walk in. Ver-Men was among them. They laughed so loud that Loki woke with a start and a cry.

"Aw, were you sleeping?" Ver-Men jeered.

Unlocked the grating. Pulled the demigod out. Loki kicked wildly, the alien grabbed him by the foot, held him upside down. Loki twisted, kicked with his free foot- went limp. He let his arms drop. The alien put him on the metal table where he always started out. Clint looked at his watch. 6:45.

_One thousand. Nine-hundred-ninety-three._

Where was Cax? The captain always was present when the other began their torture. Without him, things would go too far- Maybe it was better for Loki if they did. If they pushed him to death.

"All done fighting, are you?" the alien lightly slapped Loki across the face. "Not going to kick and bite anymore?"

"Just start," Loki replied, his voice tiny and afraid and broken. "Please, just do it."

_What?_

"Do it? Are you asking us to make you scream now?"

"I can't stop you. So please. Please, get on with it."

_Oh. Sooner they start, sooner it's over- he just wants it over and done with…_

It was 6:47 when the screams started. Clint stared at his watch, the sounds in his ears grabbing time and slowed it down.

In the beginning, the first few days on the ship, Clint had tried to enjoy it- Loki deserved to suffer. Didn't he? Whenever the screams became unbearable, Clint pictured Coulson's face, or the sceptre, or New York on fire- it was nothing more than Loki deserved, nothing more than the screams of grief that echoed on the planet- When that failed, he began counting down by sevens, starting at one thousand. Each time Loki was returned to the cage, he was a little younger, until he looked like a toddler. Clint wondered what they would have done if he had become an infant.

At 8:16, Loki began to sob with the pain, pleading for them to stop. Perhaps it was because he didn't fight back at the beginning, but his tears intoxicated them; they increased their efforts; jeered and laughed and mocked and wouldn't stop. Loki tried to escape, crawled off the table. They kicked him and pressed white-hot pokers between his shoulders and dunked him in ice water and carved smiling faces into his skin.

At 9:27, Cax entered the cargo bay. His face was twisted in fury and without speaking he drew his blaster and shot into the ceiling. The men torturing Loki shouted in confusion. Went for their own weapons. Cax fired again, shouted for quiet. Clint was glad to see him.

"You do not have permission for this, get out," the captain ordered, aiming the blaster at them.

"Since when do we need permission to have a little fun?"

"Since you joined my crew," Cax raised the blaster, aiming at Ver-Men's face. "Get out. I am _not_ going to lose my head to the titan over your stupidity. You keep acting like this and my bounty is going to die-"

"_Your_ bounty?"

"My ship, my rules, my bounty. Now get out or it'll be the airlock for you!"

The men shared disgruntled glanced, but headed out of the cargo bay. Loki's broken sobs filled the room. Cax locked the door behind his crew. He didn't look at Loki as he poured a glass of wine and grabbed a container of the healing balm. The coward knelt beside the cowering boy.

"No more, please. _Please_. Please, I can't-"

"Shh. It's over, Loki, no more."

_Yes, comfort him after ripping half his skin off. Multiple times._

"Here, drink this," Cax said, helping Loki sit enough so he could sip at the wine. His blood smeared onto the captain; his head flopped against his shoulder. "It will help to numb the pain."

If Clint was free, how quickly would he be able to _end_ the pain? _Never thought there would come a day when you felt sorry for him, did ya, Barton?_ Nope. Could this really be what he had wished for in his darkest moments? But Loki had always had an adult's face in those scenarios, though, and even then such violent, twisted thoughts left Clint sick of himself.

"I can't do this anymore, I can't live like this... Kill me."

Cax tipped a little more wine into Loki's mouth; he whimpered as the swallowed.

"Please. Kill me."

"You know why I can't."

"Please. I saved you," Loki gasped. "_I saved you_. Remember? You owe me your life. Please… please, I'll do anything, just make it stop."

Cax sighed. With Loki leaning against him, too weak to do anything but sob, the captain reached for the healing balm. Loki whimpered pitifully.

"No, nonono, please-"

"I have to stop the bleeding."

"Not – not now – please…"

Cax hesitated a moment and then set the container aside. Loki's broken sobs turned into sobs of relief. Silently, Cax let Loki back down to the floor.

_Who's the bigger coward, Barton? The man saving the colony – whatever that is – by hurting his friend, or the silent observer in his little prison who won't even speak?_

Cax went to another of the storage crates and pulled out a blanket, which he spread over Loki's naked, bleeding frame.

"Try to rest. Try not to think about next time."

How could he rest? Clint stared through the grating. How could anybody still be alive after that? How could he still be sane, listening to that?

"Comet dust," Loki whispered.

Clint frowned. Was that a request that passed through Loki's lips? No – a plea.

"He wants you whole."

"Then take it away before we reach him."

Cax shook his head. "The withdrawals will make things worse, and you know it."

"Don't care."

"No."

"Afraid that it will dull my senses so I no longer scream?"

Neither of them spoke again. Cax remained by Loki, occasionally giving him more wine until the toll of exhaustion and alcohol and blood loss overcame the pain and he fell unconscious. Cax began to apply the balm, and Loki whimpered and twitched, but did not wake.

_The kree must be a mighty people, to enjoy beating up babies._ The words were on Clint's lips. But he remained silent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to Whispers From A Silver Tongue, Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, Daisainan Neko, GlOmP3R, Love2readFantasy, bluedancingkittykat, Thursday's Child-1297, Summer Leigh Wind, FullMetalBlunt, Rivermoongoddessqueen, and Sumi Anzu for their reviews.**

**#**

Clint caught the rubber tubing that his captors pushed through the grating before they could start pumping in the liquid slop that consisted of his daily meal. He still had some stuck to his beard from the last time, when he wasn't quite quick enough. He put the end into his mouth, far back enough so that he wouldn't have to taste it. He longed for something to chew, but given that he had been only let out of the cage three times – twice to spray off the accumulated waste from his meals, the third to take his shoes, belt, anything else that Loki might try to use to kill himself – he was grateful for the lack of solid foods.

The kree started to unlock the grating above Loki's cage. For the past few days, they had had to pry his mouth open and forced the stuff down his throat. Loki shrank down, looking up with a face stained by blood and tears.

"You don't have to, I'll drink it," he said, and the aliens hesitated. "I'll drink it, don't- not this time, please…"

"Let's give him this time. I'm tired of listening to his whiney little voice," Ver-Men muttered, and stuffed the tube through the grating.

Loki caught the end and put it in his mouth. The cuts were almost healed; all that was left were thin pink ridges, little smiling faces leering out from under caked blood. But it wasn't those smiles that made Clint look away. Loki was broken. It was so different than those first days, when everything from a fist to his words was used as a weapon. Clint rubbed his eyes, remembering.

When he woke up in the cage, his body cramped, throat dry, pounding headache at the base of his skull, he could hardly get his hand to the back of his head.

_ His fingers touched crusted blood. He looked around; he could see very little through the overhead grating, but what he saw was enough; a shelf full of small containers; a metal table; open forges; a wall hanging with irons and whips and knives and other torturous objects. In the cage to his left were rolled blankets. Was this a refurbished cargo bay?_

_In the cage to his right was Loki. The demigod had shrunk since Clint had attempted to throttle him. The fifteen-year-old had become a ten-year-old. His ragged hair hung to his shoulders. His was folded up, not as tightly as Clint, staring ahead with a carefully schooled expression of boredom. A metal collar was locked around his neck._

_ A door opened, emitting the blue-skinned aliens that had captured them. Loki's breathing became audible. Clint glanced over; the mask of boredom was cracking, letting the fear through._

_ Clint smirked, repressing the knotting of his own stomach. What was coming? _Doesn't matter. Whatever he gets he deserves. And whatever I get- doesn't matter.

_ One of the aliens stalked over to sneer down at Loki. The others began filling buckets with some green stuff; other metal buckets were filled with oil and put in the firing forges with branding irons; knives were sharpened; a tub was dragged in, filled with ice water. Clint hoped that it was all for Loki._

_ "Scared, trickster?" the alien standing over Loki sneered. "You should be. The titan commissioned us to bring you to him. But we're going to have lots of fun with you on the trip."_

_ "Tell me, Ver-Men," Loki replied conversationally, "how is your wife?"_

_ The man hissed in anger. He yelled for keys, unlocked Loki's cage. Loki punched him as he reached down; clamoured out, went for Ver-Men's blaster. Another alien jumped forward, clubbed him over the head with a closed fist, knocked him down, stomped on his face._

_ Another of the aliens rushed forward, grabbed the other as he went to punch Loki._

_ "Just wait," this one said. His uniform was cleaner, neater; the captain? "Disinfect him and the human first."_

_ Ver-men and the other alien dragged Loki to his feet. They threw him down in a tub of some sort of green stuff; he emerged spluttering and choking. The captain knelt over Clint's cage._

_ "What's going on here?" Clint demanded._

_ The captain smiled wryly. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. We came to earth for Loki – but you'll fetch a fair price in the right market. The mines in Kool'd are always looking for more slaves. Consider yourself lucky. At least you'll be killed quickly in cave-ins or if you're maimed. No suffering."_

_ Nope. Clint wasn't about to accept that he was going to be sold as a slave. He was getting out of here._

_ "I'm sure you're thinking of escape," the captain continued. "You can think all you want, but you won't be leaving this ship unless it's to my profit. And I imagine you'll have a pretty nasty headache for a few days. Having translator chips implanted will do that."_

_ Other aliens came, dumped some of the green stuff over him. Sticky. Smelled revolting. Tasted worse._

_ "You'll be in that cage for a long time, human. Get used to it."_

_ Clint tried to wipe some of the green stuff off his arms to no avail. He looked up as he heard Loki yelp. The aliens were beginning to surround him. Several were pinning him down, holding his head still. Ver-Men was shaving his hair off with a sharp knife. A trickle of blood rolled down the demigods neck. Loki fought the best he could, even when the aliens began to tear off his clothes and dripped boiling oil through the green stuff, onto his skin._

_Yes_, Clint thought as he pulled himself from his memories of that first day. _Things have changed._

The aliens were packing up the rubber tube. Loki had curled in on himself again, trying to ignore their jeers. When the aliens left the cargo bay, he stuck his fingers down his throat.

"You do that and they'll stick around longer next time," Clint said, looking at the ceiling. His voice was harsh from not being used.

Loki retched, but didn't vomit. His fingers remained in his mouth for a moment, and then he lowered them. He hid his face in his knees.

_For the record, I'm not enjoying this._ Clint wondered how Loki would react if he said it. Didn't matter; he wasn't going to say it.

Loki's body tensed as the cargo bay door opened again. Clint looked up. Cax entered. The captain walked slowly over to Loki's cage. Didn't look at Clint.

"Loki?"

Cax kneeled over Loki's cage and pulled a small bag from a pocket inside his jacket. It was full of small green capsules. Loki looked up, saw the bag, and poked his hand through the grate, grabbing at it. Cax pulled it out of reach. Loki grunted in frustration, pressing himself against the grating, trying to reach it.

"One at a time," he said, "and only when you're healing."

"Cax-"

"Those are my terms. Accept them, Loki; I'm only doing his because of our history, but I won't sacrifice the lives of Kree children for you. Understood?"

Loki nodded once, his hand still reaching out. Cax handed him one of the capsules. Loki cracked it open expertly with his teeth, dumped a fine powder onto his palm and, pinching one nostril closed, began to inhale it. He ignored the two men watching him.

"What is that?" Clint asked.

"Comet dust," Cax replied sadly as Loki licked the remnants of the powder off his hand, hungrily, as though it was the only thing that could keep him sane. "It's used as a sedative for animals such as dragons and basilisks. It has a... euphoric effect on humanoids. Highly addictive. It's almost impossible to get off of, once you start."

"Liquid memories are harder, but I stopped both," Loki said, scooting to lean against the back wall. "I stopped both."

Clint didn't ask what liquid memories were. Another drug. He didn't need to know exactly what. Cax looked down at Loki sorrowfully.

"I _am_ sorry that it's come to this. If there was any other way-"

"Save your sorry and your guilt, Cax. _Your_ pain will end eventually."

Loki's head lolled back. Cax left. Clint watched as Loki's body became relaxed. His eyes stared upwards, slowly becoming more unfocused. Eventually, he closed them, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

"I want to go home," he muttered. The drugs were making him talk, Clint realised. He'd never open up without them. "I miss Asgard. The golden palace, the fragrant gardens, the snow-capped peaks, the sunsets, the dawns, the- it doesn't matter... I'll never see them again. Even if I did... not my home... not anymore... never was..."

Loki's chin dropped to his chest.

Clint watched him a while longer. He never had difficulty remembering that this child was the man who had done so much to hurt him and his world. Remembering still made the anger fire in him, the hate, the guilt- but the archer still saw the child as a child. He put his head in his hands. He didn't want to think about this. Not now. Not ever.

"You're a coward."

Loki wasn't as asleep as he thought. The boy stirred. "I know," he sighed.

"I was talking to myself."

There was no reply, and Clint said nothing else.

#

"Where is the edge?" Loki muttered, sitting quite still in his cage, head against the wall, eyes closed, occasionally shifting or muttering something. For the most part his mouth hung open. Drool ran down his chin. Half the time when he muttered, Clint didn't bother trying to understand him.

Clint wasn't entirely certain if he was sleeping or just high as a kite. Although with the drug in his system... perhaps he could get information...

What did he want to know?

"Can you hear me?" Clint asked quietly.

Loki's head tilted towards him. He swallowed, let his mouth fall open again, and nodded.

"Did you know who Phil Coulson was when you killed him?"

Loki's eyes flickered open, but they were glassy and unfocused. "Who?"

"Phil Coulson. You stabbed him in the back when you escaped from the helicarrier."

Loki frowned. "When?"

"When you were after the tesseract."

"On earth?"

"Yes."

"The tesseract. If I gave it to you now, would it stop?"

Clint gritted his teeth. Perhaps a sky-high Loki wasn't worth trying to interrogate. "I don't want-"

"Wasn't talking to you," Loki interrupted, huffing irritably, and his gaze moved around frantically as though searching for something. "Are you going to keep me a child? Are you going to cut off my head and stuff it and put it on your wall with the rest of your prizes? No... that'll be too quick for me, won't it?"

Loki's eyes closed again. He began whimpering and panting with fear.

"Hey!" Clint snapped, and Loki looked at him again. "Did you know who he was?"

"Who?"

"Phil Coulson."

"Phil Coulson," Loki repeated softly, rubbing his eyes hard in an effort to remember. "You told me about him. He brought you into SHIELD when you were fifteen. He trained you... Did I kill him?"

"Yes, you stabbed him in the back like the coward you are." Was he being deliberately stupid or was it the comet dust? Or both?

"Oh."

"Did you know? Did you target him on purpose?" _Because of what I said? What I told you?_

Loki's clouded gaze attempted to focus on Clint's face. "I- I don't think so. But maybe I did. I _was_ going to kill Phil Coulson- threat, he'd lead a resistance. Worse than Fury? As bad at least. But I didn't know he was the one that... thought it was strange, that he'd go after me alone- Brave man. Stupid man..." Loki fell silent, brow furrowing.

"Shut up," Clint turned his head away, digging his knuckles into his eyes. He shouldn't have asked-

"I never liked you."

Was he supposed to care about that? Clint remained silent.

"Liked Selvig. Ridiculously happy to see me, eager to build the tesseract portal, wanted to explain earth customs... I still don't understand the frog prince. Why would anybody want to kiss a slimy amphibian?" Loki was silent for a moment. "Selvig. Like him. Kid in a candy store. Don't like you. Too much like me."

"I am nothing like you," Clint snarled, but when he turned back, Loki was lying down, his head on his arms, breathing deeply. Asleep or on another trip?

Clint looked up at the door opened. Ver-Men and two others entered. All three looked sour as they walked to the cages.

"You're getting moved, human," Ver-Men said crossly. "What do you think of that?"

"Why?" Clint asked as they began unlocking the overhead grating. If previous experiences were anything to go by, he was in for some pain as his circulation started up again.

"Good question," one of the other aliens muttered. "If it were my choice, I'd leave you in there and use the balm to fix you up before sending you to market."

"Then you're a fool," Ver-Men shot back. "He won't fetch enough to cover half the cost of the balm it would take just to get him walking proper again."

Clint smirked as they pulled him from the cage. His muscles and joints simultaneously rejoiced and protested; he couldn't feel his feet and stumbled. "You wouldn't send me to market at all, would you Ver-Men?"

Ver-Men shoved him. He fell.

"No, I wouldn't."

"Shall we have a little fun with the trickster while we wait for the human to regain his feet?" one of his companions suggested, stepping on Clint's back to keep him down.

"Doesn't look like he'll be much fun," Ver-Men responded. He unlocked Loki's cage and pulled the demigod out; Loki remained rag-doll limp. Ver-Men pried his eye open and spat in disgust. "Comet dust."

"Where'd he get comet dust?" the other complained.

"Our captain no doubt let his compassion get the better of him." Ver-Men tossed Loki back into his cage. "Cax-Ure has pushed me to my limit. Get him up."

The kree dragged Clint to his feet. He tried unsuccessfully to walk along with them. They left the cargo bay, walked up a narrow corridor, reached another room. Half of it was barred off. Inside was a mattress flush against the floor, covered by two rough blankets. This new cage would be tall enough that Clint could stand, and long enough that he could lay straight. Not much other than that. Looked like there was a hole in the corner to serve as a toilet. Compared to the cage he had been in, it was like Buckingham Palace.

"Don't get used to it, human."

Ver-Men smirked as Clint collapsed into the cell. The blood was coming back to his legs; they burned.

"Yeah, yeah," Clint muttered, turning himself to glare at the kree and to rub his legs, increasing the blood flow. "I'll be sent to market soon enough."

"Maybe not," of the aliens snickered.

Clint frowned at him for a moment, and then understood. "Ah. You're going to mutiny."

Ver-Men hit the other kree. "Idiot."

"Who's he going to tell, anyway?"

Clint grabbed the bars and pulled himself to his feet. _That __**hurts**__!_ "I can help you."

Ver-Men snorted in derision and reached into the cell to slap Clint across the face. "How can a weak _human_ help _us_?"

Clint opened his mouth _– I'm a trained assassin. I've been in so many firefights I've lost count. _But he stopped. _Keep some things secret , Barton._

"Without Cax-Ure, you're going to need someone to stop you. Think about it. You get really caught up in the excitement, don't you? If there is nobody to tell you when enough is enough, you'll kill the trickster. Then, not only will your fun end, but the titan will be angry at you for ruining _his_ fun. And you don't want that, do you?"

Ver-Men contemplated Clint's words, peering at him keenly. "What's it to you?"

"I'd rather _not_ go to market or take his place."

"You sure you could stand _watching_ it? You didn't look too happy _listening_."

Clint gripped the bars tighter. Time to lie with the truth, which was easier than people realised. "He killed my father," _Or at least the closed thing to a real father I had, _"He massacred my mind and forced me to murder my friends_," I nearly killed Natasha. I could have killed her. Was that Loki or me? It was my training..._ "He brought death and destruction onto my world. Has it occurred to you that I was angry because I wasn't allowed to _join in_?"

Clint could see that Ver-Men was becoming convinced. The kree smirked, though, not about to willingly let on.

"If you hate him so much, how do you expect to convince us to stop?"

It was Clint's turn to smirk. "I'm trained for this sort of thing, and I want him to suffer. If he dies, he'll be free. He deserves so much more than a _simple _death."

"I'll think on your offer."

Ver-men gestured to his companions, and the three of them left.

Clint let himself back down to the floor, groaning. He didn't know if Ver-Men would accept the offer, but if he did, then at least Clint would get close enough to end Loki's pain. If he played the cards right, he might even be able to prevent himself from taking the trickster's place. He stretched out his legs, laying back. It felt strange, after so long folded up in that small cage.

_I probably won't ever see Earth again,_ he thought, and then, _But maybe I will._


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, Whispers From A Silver Tongue, Oriana8, Ireland Ranger, Daisainan Neko, doesthatmakemepokey, GlOmP3R, Love2readFantasy and Suheyla for their reviews.**

**#**

Two days after Clint had been moved to the larger cell, he had heard no further whispers about the mutiny. Clint spent his days stretching the kinks out of his body, pacing the cell; occasionally the aliens would take him out and put him on a treadmill of some sort. He was regaining his strength and dexterity, but he was careful; he didn't want them to know that he was in better shape than he pretended to be.

He was in his cell, stiffly shifting from one yoga position to another when the room went silent. He paused. The constant hum of technology was a given in the ship. He had become so accustomed to it that the lack made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

Moments later, a kree entered the room. "Get up," he said, drawing his blaster. "We've made port, and Ver-Men is still deciding whether to keep you or sell you."

"Cax-Ure is no longer in command then, I take it," Clint replied coolly, getting to his feet.

"He doesn't know it yet, but he's a dead man walking," the alien replied with a grin. He unlocked the cage. Gestured Clint out.

"And how is Ver-Men going to decide what to do with me?"

"Don't know. He wants you doing your daily exercise, though, so let's head out."

The went across the corridor, to a gym of some sorts. The alien kept his weapon trained on Clint. Directed him to step onto the treadmill. It was route; Clint turned on the machine and started walking, a brisk pace that felt good but still caused his knees to protest slightly. At least they had given him his shoes back.

From down the hall, Loki screamed. The alien glanced out the door and sat down, looking put out. Clint focused his gaze straight ahead. _One thousand. Nine hundred and ninety-three._

It had been Coulson who taught him this trick, shortly after he joined SHIELD. They were sparring, Clint clearly over his head, not wanting to admit it; street fighting was nothing against a man of Coulson's training. Clint continued to count, but the memory of that day invaded his mind.

_ "Barton, you are far too angry for a simple sparing session," Coulson observed mildly, easily blocking Clint's inexperienced blow._

_ "I'm always angry."_

_ "I've noticed. In the field, anger will only get you killed. Anger, fear, pain- these are your enemies."_

_"You sound like Yoda."_

_"Yoda sounds like me."_

_ Clint rolled his eyes, deciding to play along. "How do I stop it, then?"_

_Coulson caught the boy and flipped him onto his back. "You have to create little things to concentrate on instead, Clint."_

_ "Like imagining you in Jedi robes when you spout mystical crap like that?" Clint asked, down but not beaten, attempting to kick Coulson's legs out from under him. One foot landed on Coulson's bad knee and with a grunt the older man fell. Clint rolled to his feet, elbowing Coulson in the throat as he passed- he snatched up his bow, fitted an arrow to it, turned- and found the barrel of a gun pressed to his forehead._

_ "Personally, I count down from a thousand by the sevens," Coulson said pleasantly. "But if you want to put me in Star Wars, go ahead. Also, never turn your back on the enemy, especially when you think you've beaten them."_

Clint shook his head to get rid of his memories and concentrated on the steps and the numbers. _Seven hundred and sixty-nine._ He had only broken once, before he joined SHEILD, and he wasn't going to let cramped and stiff tendons change that-

Loki screamed again, his words indecipherable, but the begging tone clear.

Clint's guard groaned in dismay. "Why do they have to do that when I'll miss all the fun?"

_Snap_.

Clint's arms were around the man's head, twisting sharply before either of them knew what he was doing. Another snap, this one audible. Training kicked in. Relieve the dead guard of his weapon. Return to his cell, grab the blankets. He would need them. Ignore the protest of muscles.

He manoeuvred his way down the corridor, towards the sounds of screaming. Closer, he carefully checked around corners before continuing until he got to the cargo bay. Three men stood over a metal table, two holding the tiny Loki down while the third carved into his flesh and inserted metal rods under his skin. Was Ver-Men among them? No. Loki was sobbing, pleading, screaming. Cax was lying on the floor with a bloodied skull.

Clint shot two in the back as he rounded the corner, and blasted the third one's face off as he looked up in surprise. Loki did not move but for the shudders of his sobs. Clint walked over to him.

_What are you doing? You've been wanting to kill him for – how long has it been? He's in pain. End it. _Clint looked down at Loki, at the metal rods sticking out of his body. _Like a porcupine._

He set the weapon onto the table and carefully began removing the metal rods. Loki shuddered, groaning, his hands flat against the table, palms pressing down, eyes squeezed shut, face twitching with pain, tears running down his temples, soaking into his hairline. _Is it cruelty not to kill him right now?_

Clint spied the little bag with its green capsules near Cax's body. Comet dust. He pulled the last rod from Loki's chest and grabbed the bag, stuffing it into his pocket. Could be useful. Turned back to Loki. Breathing shallow, chest heaving, but not bleeding as much as expected. _Now what are you going to do with him Barton?_

Clint heard a noise, turned- got a branding iron to the face. He recoiled. _Cold. No burns. Still hurts like heck. _He stumbled back, saw Cax swaying on his feet. The alien took a step forward, leaning on the table that held Loki, checked to see if he was alive, and stepped towards Clint again.

"What are you doing, human?" the alien muttered. "Trying to rescue him when you nearly killed him before we arrived?"

"There is a difference between killing someone and making them beg for death."

Clint grabbed for the branding iron. Cax was too quick; he landed another blow on Clint's head. The archer fell to his knees, the crack blinding him. His vision cleared to see Cax standing over him, expression grim, determined. The sound of a blast rang. Cax had a momentary look of surprise on his face before he fell.

Loki's little hand was curled around the handle of the blaster Clint had left beside him. It was still lying on the table, pointing now at Clint's head. He met Loki's gaze but saw only pain. Was he going to pull the trigger again?

Loki pushed the blaster away. It clattered to the floor. He pulled himself to the edge of the table and tipped off. He cried out when he landed on the floor, but pushed himself up again and crawled, trembling, over to Cax's body. He gripped the captain's sleeve. He sat there, skin white and red, blankly staring straight ahead at the wall.

Clint staggered to his feet. Blood trickled into his eye. Concussion. Probably worse. He snatched a container of the healing balm off the shelf and picked up the blankets and blaster from the floor. The blood knife was on the table. He took it. Loki hadn't moved, his fingers curled into Cax's sleeve.

"I'm not sorry," he murmured.

Clint hesitated only a moment. He tucked the healing balm into his jacket, wrapped Loki in the blankets and picked him up. _Is it possible for anybody to be this small?_

It took him a while to navigate the twists and turns to exit the ship, but he didn't run into any more of the Kree. When he finally found the exit, he peered out cautiously. The bright light made his eyes water, especially his left – _no, that's blood. Stupid head wound_– and a blast of cold air made him shiver.

The buildings that he saw looked like they were made of glass, shaped like the triangular prism that Cindy used to hang in her window (she'd call them wainbow cwstals. She was only three when her throat was slit. Clint was ten. He made his first kill shortly after-)

_Stop. Concentrate. Stupid head wound._

Clint saw none of their blue-skinned captures, and dodged down into the city. He walked – running always brought suspicion – but quickly, Loki cradled like a baby in one arm, blaster half-hidden under him, ready to be used. He slipped between the buildings, alert, but nobody challenged him.

"I'm not sorry," Loki repeated. To Clint or himself? Clint ignored him and continued walking. "I'm not sorry."

#

It was dark before Clint found a place to stop for the night, and the cold was making him shiver. He had left the glass-prism district, finding himself among rough stone and wood houses, all of them the triangular shape. After wandering between these houses for a while, seeing aliens whose variety rivaled every space-based show or movie he had seen, he had at last found a park-like area. It had a trickle of water running through it that could be called a stream, and a grove of trees that would provide at least a little protection from the cutting wind.

Clint none-too-gently put Loki on the ground, unwrapping the blankets to see how the damage was. The inner blanket was dark, the tiny body still wet and glistened with blood, running down his legs and onto the ground. Clint shrugged off his jacket and handed it to him. Loki stared at it for a moment before accepting the jacket and wrapping it around his shoulders, and sinking to the ground.

Clint tucked the blaster into his waistband before he checked over himself. His legs and back were starting to seize from being cramped so long followed by strenuous exertion without having much warm-up time. He was feeling a weak from lack of sleep, food and water, but it was his head that worried him. Touching his forehead, he felt a two-inch gash just below his hairline. Definitely had a concussion.

Loki stared at the sky as Clint turned back to him to more fully assess how badly injured he was. The jacket hung loosely around the demigod's small frame, and his face glistened in the moonlight. He didn't resist as Clint kneeled and pulled him to his feet, pushing the jacket off his shoulders. The knives and metal rods had left deep gashes that were still bleeding. The burns were blistering. His arm hung limply at an awkward angle. Clint took it in both of his hands, frowning as he felt the lump of bone that meant it was already healed. He'd have to break it again to set it straight.

After pausing to wipe the blood that still trickled down his forehead, Clint pulled the jacket up around the boy again. He went through the jacket pockets until he found the container of the healing balm. Loki didn't move a muscle. The jacket fell to the ground again, exposing his slick, bloody body to the cold. He was still staring at the sky.

"Will this heal you?"

Loki silently looked at the container and nodded.

"Broken bone, too?"

A slight hesitation; a nod.

"Sit down," Clint muttered, dropping the container beside Loki. He searched the ground until he found three relatively straight sticks. Two were slightly more flat to make a splint, the third small enough to fit between Loki's teeth. Loki had sat and was watching him, but in the pale moonlight Clint couldn't see his expression.

"Just so you know," the assassin said curtly as he carefully tore the sleeves off the jacket to bind the split together, "the only reason I didn't leave you on that ship is because when I get back to earth I don't want Thor to kill me for returning alive and leaving you to be tortured to death."

_Is that the only reason Barton?_ Clint didn't answer the question his mind poised to him.

Loki was silent.

He took the twig when Clint handed it to him, but otherwise didn't move. Clint ground his teeth together, tempted to just break the bone. He was trying to help, and Loki was being as uncooperative as he could possibly be. But Clint knew that after what he had witnessed on the ship, he couldn't wantonly add to Loki's pain.

_He's probably in shock, or the drug hasn't left his system,_ the assassin thought._ Or he's thinking that I'm going to pick up where they left off._

His little spiel about not leaving Loki behind because of Thor probably hadn't helped with that.

"Bite it so you don't bite your tongue," he ordered, inspecting Loki's arm more closely. The dim light and pounding headache made it difficult to see clearly.

The demigod was ridiculously small and thin. Breaking the bone would be easy. He glanced up at Loki, who had tucked the stick horizontally in his mouth, pushing it back against the corners of his lips, and wrapped his free hand around a nearby protruding root.

"On three," Clint said, settings his hands on either side of the lump of the bone. "One, two, three-"

Clint quickly twisted his hands in opposite directions. He felt the two halves of the bone separate again, feeling and hearing the crack. Loki gasped sharply and then let out a small, moaning whimper. Clint was quick to set the bone and slather on the healing balm. It smelled so greasy that it made his stomach roil. He put the splint in place and then set Loki back on his feet. The demigod swayed slightly, but was able to support himself.

"Start putting this on," the archer grunted, holding the balm out so Loki could reach it with his uninjured arm.

Loki stared at the container.

"Start putting it on!"

Loki was slow to address his wounds with the balm. With his own free hand, Clint began to apply the balm to Loki's back, mixing it with the fresh and dried blood. His hand soon began tingling. It must have some pretty powerful numbing agents!

By the time Loki's body was covered with the balm, he was shaking violently from the cold. Clint pulled the jacket up over him again, zipping it this time so that it wouldn't fall off. The demigod sat carefully, cradling his broken-again arm against his chest.

The archer washed his hands in the stream, exhaustion creeping in at the corners of his eyes. Staggering back to where he had left the balm, he frowned at how badly Loki was still shuddering, but there wasn't anything else he could do until he took care of himself. Digging out a little of the balm, he dabbed it onto his head wound.

"Helo sh-" he yelped. His head felt like it was on fire!

Dashing back to the stream, Clint struck his head into the water and rubbed at the wound until the burning subsided. Sitting back up, he gasped, the cold water trickling down his neck.

_Those people are sick,_ he thought. _The cure is worse than the torture-_

Loki. Clint cursed. He wasn't shivering from the _cold_! No wonder he had been so reluctant to use the stuff!

Clint cursed again, rushing back, snatching Loki up. He all but threw the little demigod into the stream, yanking the jacket over his head as he did so. With one arm firmly around his chest, Clint began to wash the stuff from Loki's small, shivering body.

"You could have said something!" Clint grumbled when he pulled Loki from the stream. He began to undo the split, but Loki pulled his broken arm close to his chest and pushed away Clint's hands.

Clint sat back in his heels. "You're sure?"

There wasn't even a nod in response. It would have to be enough.

"All right."

He inspected Loki again. The bleeding seemed to have slowed significantly, but as he was still dripping water it was hard to tell. It was then that the full weight of the situation hit Clint. The kree would be coming after them, they had nowhere to go, it was freezing cold, his head was wet and Loki was soaked.

He stood up and walked a few feet away, looking upwards. There were four moons clustered together in the sky, forming a single point of light that was only about half the size of the moon back on earth. The stars shone brilliantly, but he recognised none of them. _No duh, Sherlock. Different world._

Clint picked up the blankets. The one he had wrapped Loki in was dark with blood, but he found a dry corner. He toweled off his head, went back to Loki, patted the boy dry since he seemed to have no interest in doing it himself. Retrieved the jacket- luckily hadn't landed in the stream – turned it inside out, pulled it down over Loki's head again. Checked the demigod's temperature with a hand to his forehead. Unnaturally warm, but that could be caused by anything, Clint supposed, the torture, the drugs. He could be getting sick.

"It's too cold," Clint muttered, pressed a hand to his pounding head. He should use the balm, heal himself. Looked around but couldn't see it. "We're gonna have to share body heat to survive the night."

Why wasn't he moving? Clint looked down at Loki. Loki started straight ahead. Clint turned, followed Loki's gaze, saw nothing. Shadows dancing in the moonlight. One looked like a bunny. Was it a bunny? No, it wasn't a bunny, it was a shadow, what would an alien bunny look like?_ Stop thinking about bunnies, you're an assassin not a two-year-old. Loki's a two-year-old._

Clint grabbed the dry blanket and sank with a groan between two trees, leaning against the trunks. Loki finally moved, mincing his way over as though walking on broken glass. Stopped, just in Clint's reach. Still didn't look at the archer, who wrapped the blanket around his own shoulders and then grabbed Loki's arm, made him sit beside him, pulled the blanket around both of them.

_Can't sleep_, he thought, a hand on the blaster at his side while holding the blanket closed_. I have a concussion. If I fall asleep, I could sink into a coma._

Loki unexpectedly moved. The demigod crawled into the archer's lap, curling against his chest. Clint made to push him off, but stopped. It was more efficient than sitting side-by-side. Loki's small body was warm, and Clint was able to tighten the blanket around them, putting his arms around the small body. Awkward, but effective.

Loki could pull out the blaster and shoot him in the chest.

Maybe he would.

Maybe he wouldn't.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, Suheyla, GlOmP3R, Daisainan Neko, gale662, Ireland Ranger, doesthatmakemepokey, Love2readFantasy, Hiddleslover96, and Oriana8 for their reviews!**

**#**

The four moons strung out across the sky, leaving the land darker than before, and with the dark came cold. Clint struggled to keep himself awake and alert. He shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around himself and Loki. Loki seemed to have fallen asleep, though Clint couldn't say for certain.

Clint hated being cold. Always had. Always would. At least the beard cut out some of the wind. He gazed up at the sky, memories sweeping into his mind.

_ "So you're my handler, are you?" Natasha Romanoff said once the quinjet was well away from the base._

_ Clint glanced over at her, at the woman that he had been sent to kill and instead had given her a second chance. Nick Fury had partnered them together on her first official mission for SHIELD. She sat in the co-pilots seat, examining the dials with far more interest than she normally displayed. She glanced up at him and winked._

_ "We have a connection, apparently," Clint replied calmly._

_ "In other words, since you were the one to risk bringing me in, you can be the one to risk being killed instead of one of your colleagues?"_

_ "Something like that."_

_ Romanoff was silent for a moment. "Why did you risk bringing me into SHIELD?"_

_ "A gut feeling."_

_ "That's all?"_

_ "I didn't succumb to your feminine charms, if that's what you're asking."_

_ "Good, I'd hate to think that you're so shallow that I'd be dead if I wasn't pretty," Romanoff replied promptly. "But seriously. You were thinking of something specific when you decided not to shoot me."_

_ "Was I?"_

_ "I'm good at reading people, Barton. I saw it in your eyes."_

_ Clint was silent._

_ "All right. You don't have to tell me. Although I know ways of making a man talk."_

_ "And I know ways of talking without saying anything."_

_"Touché."_

_ The conversation was suddenly interrupted by something hitting the starboard wing. They pitched to the side. Clint struggled to keep them steady. Nothing on radar. What the- Another plane flew over them, banked hard, came back. Fired. Romanoff responded with two missiles. Exploded before impact. They were going down._

_ Romanoff swore in Russian. "Take us into a dive."_

_ "Are you insane?"_

_ "Do it!"_

_ Clint obeyed, praying to every deity he had heard of-_

(_I knew about the Norse gods then,_ Clint thought with a grin, looking away from the four moons in the sky_. I sent a prayer to Thor... and Loki. Lot of fat help they were.)_

_Natasha had fired more missiles, and – he still didn't quite understand how – but their pursuers had been destroyed. But the plane had gone down, ploughing into Antarctica. The radio was dead. They had seen the clouds darkening and realised that a blizzard was on its way._

_ They pulled out the emergency supplies, found the solar blankets and sleeping bags._

_ "We're gonna have to share body heat," Clint said, lining one sleeping bag with the solar blankest._

_ He turned off the lights in the plane except one, and they slipped into the bag together, holding onto each other to conserve heat._

_ "You could've at least taken me to dinner first," Romanoff joked as she laid her head on his shoulder._

_ The storm lasted a week. They melted snow to drink, and ate the few rations that had survived the crash._

_ There was an intimacy in sharing warmth, Clint learned while the Antarctic snow blew over the fallen plane. Not a sexual intimacy – it was so cold that such thoughts were frozen. But as he and Natasha lay in each other's arms, something deeper than that heat passed between them. They were giving each other life as well as warmth, sharing their essences. Her head on his chest, both shivering, but not as much as they would have if they had been alone._

_ He brushed her hair from her face and she opened her eyes and looked at him._

_ "I'm happy with it," he murmured._

_ "With what?"_

_ "Dying. Here with you. You probably think that's strange."_

_ "No." She smiled. "I'm happy, too. I've always been afraid that I would die alone."_

_ "Me, too. I think everyone does."_

Clint was brought out of his memories by Loki shifting, and shivering. A soft moan of fear or pain emanated from his throat. Clint pulled the blanket around them both a little tighter. The small body of warmth stilled, letting out a ragged sigh.

_We're sharing life, _Clint thought. _Loki and me. I would not be happy to die like this. But now he's part of my life, I have a little of him and he has a little of me. He dies, a little of me dies. I can't let him die._

He blinked at the blood trailing into his eyes, the gash in his head making his brain muddle. Concussion. Coma. Was it his injury or exhaustion causing his vision to blur?

Clint looked back at the moons. He fought against the blackness closing in on him. Fought. Lost.

#

Clint woke knowing that the little bundle of warmth in his arms was an enemy and not an enemy. It was his years of training that told him to destroy it, but it was also his years of training that restrained him to think before acting. It only took a split second for the adrenaline to surge and release, and his memories to kick in. He looked down. Loki was awake, green eyes staring at him but they looked away.

The archer quickly put the demigod aside, setting him on his feet. The sun was lightening the sky, but the air was still chill. Clint touched his forehead, found dried blood, but the gash had healed. He frowned. Had the balm worked even though he washed it off? No- Looking at Loki, Clint saw that the boy was still bleeding. But then how…

"Did you heal me?" he asked harshly.

Loki stared at the ground.

Clint waited for another moment before deciding it didn't matter. He stood stiffly. Washed the blood off his head at the stream. Stretched. It would take a while to work out the effects of his imprisonment. When his joints were loose, he turned back to Loki. The demigod still hadn't moved.

"Are you high?"

Loki backed up as Clint came forward. The archer ignored the fear and knelt so he could examine the boy better. Loki's chin dropped to his chest. Clint put his hand under the chin and redirected the gaze. The eyes looked clear; he covered them with his hand for a moment and then uncovered them quickly; the pupils visibly contracted. Did that mean the drug had worked its way out of Loki's system? Then why wasn't he talking?

"Open your mouth."

Loki did as directed. Clint tilted his head up so that the sunlight could go down his throat.

"Stick out your tongue and saw "ah"."

Loki's expression finally changed, a single eyebrow lifting, but still obeyed.

Clint released Loki's chin. "Why aren't you talking?" He waited a moment. "Can you talk?"

A nod.

"So you're just refusing to talk."

Another nod.

Loki looked at the stream. Clint sat back on his heels. He could play twenty questions, but did it matter why Loki wasn't talking? Given that he was doing everything that Clint told him to do, was a lack of talking something to complain about? No.

"All right. You don't wanna talk, then don't talk. You're still bleeding, though, I have to do something about that."

Clint's glanced around. His gaze fell on the container that held the healing balm. Was Loki bleeding bad enough to warrant using it? The archer looked at the demigod. The demigod looked back at the archer. Eyes wide, expectant, breathing shallow, but no indication he would resist. Clint felt a pang hit his stomach. Loki was at point where he'd rather cooperate and hope it didn't get too bad than fight back. He remembered that point.

"Let me check your arm," Clint muttered, unwilling to return that fearful gaze for much longer.

He unbound the splint and was surprised to see that the balm from the previous night was gone. Soaked into the skin? The bone no longer seemed to be broken.

"Does it still hurt?"

Loki shook his head.

Clint inspected the arm for a moment longer, and then grabbed the balm. Loki flinched back.

"You're bleeding too much to not do anything. Can you handle this?"

Loki viewed the container with trepidation, but his head bobbed in a short nod.

"Okay." Clint opened the container. "We can do this two ways. One," he held up a finger, "we can do the worst of your wounds right now and the rest in stages. Two," he raised a second finger, "we can do them all at once. Your choice."

Loki closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. He lifted two fingers.

Clint nodded. "If it gets to be too much, raise your fist over your head and I'll stop, okay?"

Loki didn't open his eyes, didn't move, as Clint unzipped the jacket and began applying the balm. The demigod sucked in deep breaths between his teeth and flinched every time Clint touched a wound, his hands clenched by his sides. He probably didn't believe that Clint would stop.

The archer worked as quickly as he could. When he was done, he zipped the jacket back up to Loki's chin and washed his hands in the stream.

When he turned back, Loki had dug out the bag of green capsules from the jacket pocket and was reaching into it. Clint lunged forward, snatching the bag away but not before Loki's fist closed. Clint grabbed Loki by the wrist.

"Drop it," he ordered.

Loki's fist clenched tighter.

"I do not want to have to deal with you on drugs, understand?"

A flicker of defiance rose in Loki's eyes.

"And for that matter, I don't want to deal with you going through withdrawals either."

The defiance faded.

Clint studied Loki for a moment, and then released his wrist. "Open your hand."

After a moment's hesitation, Loki did so. There was one capsule in his tiny palm.

_What are you going to do now, Barton? Let him suffer the pain in full mind, or let him drug himself out? Is there a third option? _Clint stood, stuffing the bag into his pants pocket. He looked at the sky, as though he could find answers there. When he looked back down, Loki had cracked the capsule open with his teeth. He looked up at Clint as though daring him to stop him. Then he dumped the power onto his palm and tossed the empty capsule to the ground.

Clint grabbed his wrist again. Loki's fist closed over the powder.

"This is all you get, understand? Once this is gone, it's gone. No more."

Loki stood motionless until Clint released him again. Then he sat, opening his hand. With his other hand, he pinched one nostril shut and inhaled the powder. When it was gone, he wiped his hands on the jacket and lay down. The small body quickly went limp as the drug coursed through him.

Clint wrapped him up in the blankets, the bloody one on the inside so that people wouldn't see, and then picked him up. His head flopped back limply. Clint folded the blaster into the blankets, where it would be easily reached but still avoid drawing attention.

He left the park, sticking close to the buildings as he made his way through the city. Close to the dark, the streets were dark, dirty, and smelled. He spied one stone building, long, wide, and low, where people were stumbling around outside of it, some sitting against the wall with lolling heads. Clint made a note of the location; comet dust may be worth something.

Slowly, the rougher-built buildings were replaced by nicer-looking ones, although none of them were the glass of the port. The streets became busier; most of the people were Kree, and Clint's heart stopped several times when he thought he saw Ver-Men, but the bounty hunters were nowhere to be seen. Searching the slums first, probably. Nobody gave him a second look-

"Looking for the orphanage?"

Clint turned sharply to see a short, red-hued alien with huge black eyes in a huge head perched on a slender body staring at him.

"No," Clint replied, adjusting Loki so that he could reach the blaster more easily. "Although if you could direct me to an inn...?"

The alien eyed Loki doubtfully, but shrugged. "You're standing outside of one."

He – She? It? – pointed to a wooden building which was twice as high as the buildings around it, and more square, and then walked away, head wiggling like a bobble-head doll.

Clint looked at the inn for a moment. It was a shabby-looking building, but no more so than the buildings that surrounded it. He entered, his eyes quickly adjusting. He was surprised to see that there were what looked to be florescent lights lining the walls and ceiling.

A small, thin Kree was sitting at what appeared to be the front desk. He looked up as Clint entered, and scurried over like an over-enthusiastic cockroach. "Welcome, welcome, sir! Are you looking for a room in the finest establishment in- Is that a child?"

Clint frowned. Why was Loki such a curiosity? "Yes."

"You've got a child? Here?" the innkeeper asked, peering incredulously at Loki.

"He's my son," Clint replied, the lie coming easily from years of practice.

"Sure is quiet..."

"He hasn't talked since his mother died. Can you give us a room or not?"

The innkeeper hummed doubtfully. "Thirty credits for a night, two hundred for a week, eight hundred for a month. Rooms come with one bed, a stove, running water – hot costs an extra fifteen credits a night. One meal is provided a week, and coal is available here."

Clint pretended to contemplate the deal. Credits. Well, that's what he had the comet dust for, right? He hoped that he'd find a buyer, and that it would be enough. Ver-Men would be looking for them in the slums of the city, not in the areas where it would cost money to get a room.

"I'll have to see what other places are available."

"We are the finest-"

"I'm sure you are, but I still have to look." Clint turned on his heel, exiting back into the cold sunshine.

Loki was still sleeping. Clint adjusted him again, listing what he had to do. _Find a place to hide him. Find a buyer for the dust. Get a room. Try not to die before nightfall._

After several hours, Clint found a niche between two buildings in an alley where was able to safely store the sleeping Loki, piling garbage up around him to hide the boy from sight. He hoped that the demigod would stay put if he woke up.

Unburdened, Clint checked the blaster before returning to the place he had seen before, where people were stumbling out of the building clearly strung out. He found it quickly, slipping inside. He hoped that he'd be able to sell and not end up with a knife in his ribs.

The inside of the building reeked of various bodily fluids. Clint gagged as his eyes adjusted to the dark. It was a large room, packed tightly with people who all seemed to be trying to press towards ten or so arched doorways in the back. Several large, burly men stalked through the crowd, choosing people seemingly at random to take into the back rooms. Each room was guarded by two more of the burly men.

Clint assumed an expression of authority and began to deliberately make his way to the back. When he got close, one of the guards stepped silently in front of him.

"I have an appointment."

The guard contemplated him for only a moment before stepping aside.

Clint tried not to let his relief show as he ducked through the doorway. And then he tried not to let his apprehension show.

The little room was sweltering. Lamps were lit all around, making it almost blindingly bright compared to the darkness of the previous room. Ragged, sheer curtains hung around like giant spider's webs. In the center of the room sat a lump of a person, wrapped up in a shimmering red fabric like a mummy.

"Sit," a vaguely female voice said.

Clint sat, wary. He opened his mouth, but-

"You come to sell. No need to confirm or deny, Clint Barton. We are the memory-eaters, we know your thoughts. Let us sample."

Clint's senses tingled, telling him to get out of there. A telepath?

"That is what you call us on your world. A sample." A hand stretched out from the wrappings.

Clint hesitated a moment before retrieving the bag of comet dust. He pulled out one capsule and placed it in the outstretched hand. It clenched, withdrawing back into the bandages. The archer couldn't clearly see what the red mummy did, but after a moment there was a satisfied sigh.

"High grade. Leave the bag here, my right hand will pay you."

"How much?"

"Fifteen hundred credits. I know your desperation, take the price or we shall take your mind… such happiness is in your head, and such sadness. Your memories… taste sweet…"

A cloud suddenly fell over Clint's mind. He had a brief thought of Alice going through the looking glass, but he was Alice- falling down, down, down, a rabbit hole of memories. Lives flashed before his eyes. Lives he had ended. Old, young, friend, foe. _Fury is the Mad Hatter, and the queen of hearts shouts_ _OFF WITH HIS_-

Clint gasped, the cloud lifting. He was lying face-down in front of the mummy, shivering and shaking. What was that?

"Fear not for your mind, we but tasted your memories. Not a bit did we take. Now go."

Panting, Clint tossed the bag at the mummy, scrambling to his feet. He staggered out. One of the guards caught his arm and pressed a metal card into his hands.

"She says if you become desperate again, bring the child. She has tasted his memories before and will pay handsomely for the chance to taste them again."

"What happens here exactly?"

"The miserable come to relieve themselves of the pain of memories. They drain all colour, sound, taste, emotion from the memory they are given, leaving behind the knowledge of what happened but nothing more. Like a rainbow of grey."

Clint shoved the card into his pocket, and didn't look back as he left the building.

#

The inn was no nicer on the inside than it was on the outside. Clint set Loki down in the room, wondering what exactly was giving off the stick of urine. It could be the mattress or quilts on the narrow bed or the worn rug on the floor. Perhaps even the curtains hanging limply over the single window. It probably wasn't he pot-bellied stove in the corner. Maybe the sink situated beside it. Clint tried the tap; the water was tinged yellow.

He had stopped at a market and bought a loaf of bread and then retrieved Loki from the alley before returning to the inn. Clint had given the innkeeper enough for a two weeks' stay, and the innkeeper gave him a key and directed him where to go.

There was a table with two chairs shoved into the space between the bed and the stove, and Clint put the bread onto it.

"Home, sweet home," the archer muttered, and then, "I've had worse."

He looked at Loki, wrapped in the blankets from the ship. Loki looked at the floor.

What had the woman meant, she had tasted his memories before?

"You've been on this planet before."

A nod.

"Did you work in the mines?"

Nod.

"Were you a slave?"

No movement.

Clint dug his knuckles into his eyes. He turned from Loki. They still needed supplies. New, warmer clothes. Coal. Food. He somehow didn't think that the one meal provided by the inn would be enough to keep them going.

There was a mirror above the sink, and Clint cleaned the knife he had taken from the kree ship and carefully shaved off the beard and trimmed the moustache that had grown during his imprisonment. He nicked himself twice, but the blade was sharp enough that the shave was relatively smooth. He then trimmed his hair. The difference in his appearance was apparent to him, and he was pleased. Ver-Men wouldn't recognise him from a distance, at least.

"I'm going out again," Clint said, aware of the risk; Ver-Men would be searching; but better get the worse of the risks over at first. This would be a search that would only get more desperate as time went by. More desperate, and more dangerous.

Loki lay down on the floor. Clint crouched next to him – the boy flinched as the archer put his hand against his forehead. He was clammy.

"You need anything? To help deal with this?"

Head shook. Curled in tighter, closed eyes.

Clint hesitated a moment. Should be leave or should he stay?

_He's not a child,_ the archer thought, standing again. _He can deal with it._

He headed for the door, but before he got there, a crash. Clint turned. Loki had gotten up, picked up one of the chairs and smashed it against the wall. Loki then grabbed one of the broken legs and began to beat it against the stove.

"Hey!" Clint shouted, starting forward. He yanked the chair leg from the demigod's hand.

Loki dropped to the floor, curling into a ball, arms protecting neck, head and face. Clint stopped in his tracks, suddenly seeing another little boy who had curled up like that many times while a man – more like a monster - stood over him with clenched fists. Little blonde boy; back, arms and legs covered in welts and bruises that he tried to hide in long sleeves-

_ "Please, Daddy, please-"_

_ Tears were no use. He learned that the bruises got worse if he cried. He stopped crying, learned how to hide himself in himself._

_ But then the little boy was replaced by a little girl. Flaming red hair, mischievous green eyes. Smiled easily, laughed easily. She never learned that tears were BAD – never learned to hide herself. He tried to shield her, tried to take her bruises-_

_ "I had a bad dream, Clint." How often had he heard those words as Cindy crawled into bed with him, trusting her big brother to keep the Monster away? How often had he failed?_

_ Until the Ultimate Failure. Hot summer night, woke up; dark outside. Heard TV going. The living room light was on, it was never on unless the Monster was home, the Monster was never home unless there weren't enough bruises, maybe it needed a broken arm or something else entirely. Clint crawled quietly, saw the Monster sitting on the couch, beer clutched in his hand. Blood smeared on the bottle. Knife in the table, red dripping from it. Cindy laying on the couch, blank eyes, smiling gash in her throat – (was she naked or did he add that afterwards when he found out what else the Monster did to other little girls? Was she? WAS SHE?)_

_ Clint knew about the loose floorboard under the rug in the empty room down the hall. He knew about the gun. He had thought about pulling the trigger hundreds of times._

_ The Monster was asleep, snoring, when Clint returned. He didn't want to miss, and so he walked right up to the Monster and pressed the gun to its face. He did not hesitate._

_ He waited._

_ He waited for the man to open his eyes and feel the gun and see his son pull the trigger._

_ He put the gun on the table after he had killed his father. He carried Cindy back to her bed and closed her eyes so she could sleep and tucked her blankets in around her chin because she was cold. Then he walked out of the house and always looked back._

Clint forced his mind away from the past, erasing the little blonde boy and the little red-headed girl that he had superimposed on the little dark-haired demigod.

"Hey," Clint said softly, crouching beside the cowering boy. "Are you cold?"

Loki still curled in on himself. He shook his head.

"Are you hungry?"

Another shake.

Clint stood again. He contemplated the situation. When was the last time Loki had eaten? Or had gotten any sleep? Gently, he picked up the boy and carried him to the bed, placing him down on top of the blankets. Loki whimpered slightly in his throat_- What kind of person do you think I am? I'm not my father._ Clint didn't say it out loud. Loki was still in pain, he wasn't thinking that Clint was going to-

The archer went to the table, ripped off a chunk of the bread. Took it back to Loki, set it on the bed.

"Try to eat something."

He covered him with the blankets from the ship again. He returned to the table, trying to think, trying not to think. After a long moment, Loki uncurled slightly so that he was looking at Clint. Without moving his gaze, he picked up the bread chunk and nibbled at it.

_Ignore him_, Clint told himself.

But Clint couldn't ignore him. Eventually, he looked back at Loki, who adverted his gaze briefly before returning the stare in the eye.

"Listen," Clint started. _How do I even say this? What do I want to say?_ "I know that both of us would violently disagree if anybody tried to call us friends, but if I wanted to hurt you I'd have left you behind. So you can stop cowering as though _I _am the monster here."

Loki winced.

_ Great going, Barton. Anything else brilliant to say?_

"I didn't mean it like that." _Yes you did._ "All right, maybe I did, but I didn't-" _Shouldn't you apologize? I'll apologize when he does! Shut up!_

"I'm gonna start over here." _How_? "Never mind, I'm gonna see if I can find a way off of this planet. Don't break anything else."

He left the little inn quickly, trying not to think of Loki's empty green eyes as he stared at him, his expression hollow. As if a gun was pressed against his face. Just waiting for the trigger to be pulled.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to Whispers From A Silver Tongue, Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, summerlove-jls, doesthatmakemepokey, Suheyla, Summer Leigh Wind, and GlOmP3R for reviewing!**

**#**

When Clint returned to the inn with clothing and enough food and coal to last for a week – at least, he hoped that it would be enough for a week, it had cost him over half of the credits he had left – the chair had been put back together. So Loki _could_ still use magic. Did this mean that the spell Odin had put on him before sending him to earth again would make him younger? What was the collar for? The blankets from the ship and the jacket were lying over the backs of the chairs, damp. The blood and healing balm had been rinsed out.

Loki was nowhere in sight.

Clint paused, glancing around. No signs of a struggle. No sign of the kree...

"Loki?" he called, deciding to risk it.

There was a small noise under the bed, and then Loki emerged, stark naked. He lay half under the bed, picking at the rug, not looking at Clint.

"Here."

The archer tossed him a plain brown outfit, a long sleeved shirt and trousers. It landed on Loki's head. Clint tried to ignore the wince. He quickly changed into the new clothing he had gotten for himself. It was slightly scratchy and smelled strongly of dye, but it was much warmer than his t-shirt. He then built a small fire in the stove.

He turned around to see that Loki had spread out the shirt and trousers as though somebody was lying dead on the floor. The demigod himself was slinking back under the bed, like a turtle withdrawing into his shell.

"Get dressed."

Loki paused, and then inched back out, and prodded the clothing doubtfully.

Clint turned away, pressing his hands against the wall, fighting the urge to beat his head. "_Loki_."

He heard a scrambling, and turned again to see that Loki had disappeared entirely, leaving the clothing behind. Clint knelt beside the bed, looking under it. The demigod was pressed against the wall, his eyes wide.

"I already said that I wasn't going to hurt you. Now come here."

Loki slowly crept forward. Clint had to resist the urge to grab his arm and yank him out. He let the boy emerge at his own time. When he was out, the archer saw dark purple bruises over his chest and legs, thin pink scars underneath from the still-healing wounds. He smelled of sweat, and his palms were bloody.

"What the-" Clint cursed. "What did you do to yourself?"

Had he beaten himself with the broken chair before putting it back together?

"Loki-"

Loki pressed a finger against a purple splotch on his chest, his finger turning white until Clint pulled his hand down.

"Did you do this to yourself?"

Nod.

"Why?"

Shrug.

Clint shook his head, and then tilted Loki's chin up so that he could see his eyes. They were somewhat clear, and his face was flushed. He checked his temperature. Clammy still, colder than before. Without a word, the archer dressed the demigod. He pulled a quilt off the bed, wrapped up the boy, and set him next to the stove. Then he filled a newly-purchased kettle with water and set it to heat up.

"From now on, you don't beat yourself up, understood?"

Clint busied himself with setting the supplies in a neat order. The food was strange looking, although there were several vegetables that resembled produce from earth. Meat had been too expensive to buy. He paused and then turned again to the boy, crouching down to be at eye-level.

"I can see that you're going through withdrawals. Is that why you decided to bruise yourself? To have something else to focus on?"

Loki pulled the blanket over his head.

"So you take the drugs to dull the pain and then hurt yourself to dull the drugs. Vicious cycle, if I've heard of one."

Clint sat back at the table, pressing his palms against his eyes and his elbows against the table. What was he doing? How was he going to get back to earth- Keeping Loki was going to make it harder, wasn't it? The cost of feeding him, always having to take care of him because he seemed supremely uninteresting in caring for himself...

Maybe he just didn't see the point. After all, when they had been captured by Cax-Ure, Clint had nearly strangled him to death.

Still, the whole not-talking thing was going to get real old, real fast.

Of course, once he was through the withdrawals that might help.

"All right, we'll see if this helps," Clint muttered, picking up the bundle of blankets again. He set it down on the bed and peeled back the layers to find Loki in the centre. "Lay down on your stomach." Loki hesitantly obeyed. Clint rubbed his hand together to warm them, and then lifted Loki's shirt so that he could massage the little boy's back. Without thinking, he commented, "Natasha likes it when I do this after a hard day."

Loki didn't just cry out. He screamed, whipping around, slamming a small fist to Clint's nose. He rolled off the bed and then scrambled under it. Clint cursed his poor choice of words. Even he could see how it could be misinterpreted. He rubbed his nose, checked to see if it was bleeding. Nope. Knelt beside the bed.

"No matter what you think of me, no matter what you expect me to do, _I am not that kind of person._ I would _never_ molest a child, or an adult for that matter." Loki wasn't looking at him, pressed back as far as he could be. "And my relationship with Natasha isn't a sexual one, either. I was talking about a massage, to help with you relax." Clint paused. "I'm sorry that you took it the wrong way, but it was _you_ who took it the wrong way. You have to believe me on this one."

The water on the stove was boiling. Clint went to it. It was still yellow. He'd have to get more supplies, in order to distil it. Who knew what sort of damage alien bacteria would do to his systems?

He heard Loki crawl out from under the bed and climb up onto it, but didn't turn for some time. When he did, he saw Loki laying face down, his fingers digging into the quilts, his body shaking. Part of Clint wanted to leave him suffering there for a while, but he didn't.

He sat on the bed next to the boy and began to rub his back and neck in the pattern that never failed to put Natasha to sleep after ten minutes. On more than one occasion she had told him that if he ever gave up assassination, he'd be a great geisha girl. Clint would respond that such a statement was not only racially insensitive, but was probably sexist as well. By then, Natasha would usually be too relaxed to argue back...

Clint ignored the pang of loneliness that hit him, and turned his mind to other things. He would find a way back to earth. He _would _go home again.

#

The air was frosty as Clint woke, nestled in the blankets on the bed. Light was streaming in from the single window and Clint observed the room silently, not moving from where he lay. His face, exposed, was chill, but the rest of him was toasty warm. The blankets that the inn had provided were great quality!

He turned over, shivering as the cold air flowed across the back of his neck. A bundle of blankets was still and quiet near the stove. Clint had been up most of the night with Loki, massaging his neck and back while the little body shivered and sweated. Eventually Loki had fallen asleep, getting through the worst of it. Clint had then laid down the two blankets from the ship as a mattress for Loki, wrapped him up with half of the quilts provided by the inn, and put him near the stove so that he'd stay warm through the night. No cuddling necessary indoors.

The archer contemplated the blankets that hid Loki from his view. He thought, quite suddenly, of another time when he was faced with his enemy and chose not to kill. The situation had been different then, of course. He had no personal interaction with Natasha before he had been sent by Fury to kill her. She had caused a lot of trouble, had killed a lot of people, and was a threat that had to be dealt with.

Clint's lips twitched into a smile as he remembered their first meeting. The tux he had been wearing was long gone by now; it was only a rental anyway.

_ She would be at the ball, he knew. Her target was here. A rich senator. Clint adjusted his cufflinks, casually scanning the crowd for the face from the photos. It had been difficult to get a photo of her in the first place; he wasn't going to be caught unawares-_

_ "Care for a dance?"_

_ Clint turned to see _his_ target standing right behind him. Her cool grey eyes sparkled mischievously, her red hair down in ringlets; dark eye shadow, glittering skiff of blush, deep red lips; she wore a white gown, one-shouldered , loose folds gathered at the waist, floor-length skirt. Weapons easily concealed._

_ Heart sinking, Clint nevertheless smiled at her, and extended his hand. She took it and led him onto the dance floor. She put her arms around her neck, a teasing twitch in her lips as he put his arms around her waist. They swayed in time with the music. She seemed to melt against him._

Oh, she is good!

_ "Did Nick Fury send you?"_

_ Clint raised his eyebrows at Natasha Romanoff, who laughed lightly._

_ "I recognize a man acquiring his target, Clint Barton. And I have far more information on you and your organization than your little desk-rats know."_

_ "Obviously, although I've never heard them called desk-rats before," Clint replied easily, and then; "You're a good dancer, Miss Romanoff."_

_ "I wish I could say the same about you! Didn't your training include this sort of thing?" she responded without missing a beat, a smile curling her lips._

_ "I must have missed that lesson. Although I'll have you know I can shave my legs and do my hair and makeup in ten minutes flat."_

_ Romanoff laughed in appreciation. "Do you meet her Majesty Queen Barton often?"_

_ "I prefer to avoid her. She's temperamental, and has far too many grandchildren. Which she carries photos of, if you'd like to see them."_

_ "Perhaps another time, when I'm not so busy avoiding having my feet stepped on. I hope your archery is better than your footwork, or I'm afraid that your reputation is wildly bloated."_

_ "I wouldn't think that you'd wish that, seeing as I was sent here to kill you."_

_ The smile faded from Romanoff's face. "You know how to keep a conversation light and friendly, don't you?"_

_ "You already knew why I was here."_

_ "Does that mean I can't enjoy a single dance?"_

_ Clint studied the woman in his arms for a moment. "I'm sorry."_

_ "Too late now," Romanoff replied briskly, pulling herself back to a more respectful distance. "You brought the subject up. So. How were you planning on doing it?"_

_ Clint shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I was told that the only way I'd succeed was if you didn't see me coming."_

_ "And what did they say would happen if I did?"_

_ "That I would be the one to die here tonight." Clint smiled at her, the same smile she had given him moments ago. "So. How are you going to do it?"_

_ "Quickly."_

_ "Thank you."_

_ "I'm not being merciful, Clint. It's only the intelligent thing to do."_

_ "Thank you all the same. I'm not huge on torture."_

_ Romanoff smiled again. "It's hot in here; let's go up to the roof."_

Clint shivered as he slipped out from under the blankets. He went to the stove and quickly built a fire. The cold still pervaded in the room. He warmed his hands over the open flame for a moment, and then went to check on Loki. He was so rolled up in his blankets that nothing of him showed.

"Loki," Clint muttered, shaking the small bundle. It felt cold. "Wake up, it's time to eat."

He didn't stir. Clint frowned, and began to peel back the blankets. They got colder as he went through the layers. He willed his heart remain steady. Had it been so frigid in the night that the little boy had succumbed? He had half the blankets from the bed- the thicker half. He'd felt cold to the touch the previous night, but Clint had been sure that he'd be all right overnight!

"Loki? Come on, don't do this-"

Clint peeled back the final layers covering Loki. He stopped, staring at the small, still body. The blue body. Loki looked back at him for a moment before closing his blood-red eyes and pulling the blanket back over his head.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, Whispers From A Silver Tongue, GlOmP3R, doesthatmakemepokey, Oriana8, Maybell's Stories, LokiLaufeyson222, and ArainaHaldthin for the reviews!**

**#**

"I hope whatever you have isn't contagious," Clint muttered as he moved the bundle of blankets that contained Loki from the floor to the bed. "Are you sick?"

There was an almost imperceptible shift in the blankets. Clint dug his knuckles into his eyes and then began peeling back the layers. Like unwrapping a present. If the wrapping paper was fabric, and the present was an enemy who didn't want to be unwrapped. Loki's blue fingers clutched at the blankets, trying to keep his face hidden.

"Stop that," Clint scolded, reaching for Loki's wrists.

As soon as he touched the demigod, his skin burned. With a sharp cry, he withdrew. His palms had dark black burns, edged by white. Frostbite? Gritting his teeth against the smarting of his palms, he lowered the back of his hand close to Loki's blue hands. They were literally radiating cold.

"So if I touch you, you give me frostbite. Great." Clint muttered a few oaths under his breath for a moment. "On the plus side, if Ver-Men finds us, he gets burned by touching you, too."

Loki hesitantly lowered the blanket just enough so that he could peer out at Clint. The archer had to force himself not to look away. Even this small, Loki looked like something out of an alien-horror movie. The area of the blankets he was touched was just starting to frost over.

"You have to tell me what's happened to you, Loki," Clint said, and the demigod immediately hid himself again. "Are you sick? Is it something that the kree did to you? Talk to me."

Silence.

Clint stood. He grabbed the healing balm and checked how much they had left. Not much. His hands weren't too badly burned; he'd save this for an emergency. With another troubled look at Loki's blue fingers peeking out over the edge of the blanket, and the growing circle of frost around them, Clint left the room. He hurried to the main desk, looking for the innkeeper, or whoever passed for staff in this place.

The innkeeper was talking to a wide yellow-skinned alien that appeared to have three arms sprouting out its back. Clint waited, approaching the desk when three-arm was gone.

"I need more blankets for my room, and extra coal."

The innkeeper looked blankly at Clint.

"My... my son is sick," the archer said, deciding on the simplest explanation. "I have to keep him warm."

"Extra blankets and coal will cost more."

"I've got credits." Clint cursed silently as the innkeeper told him how much it would cost. There wasn't even a guarantee that it would help. "Fine," he agreed reluctantly. "I'll come back later for it."

The innkeeper nodded, and then frowned. "Why do you even have a child here?"

"Like I said, he's my son."

"Your son," the thin kree repeated doubtfully. "He doesn't look much like you."

"What's it to you?"

"If you took him from the orphanage... that could cause me some problems. I've got three girls on the home planet myself and I think what those people do there is unnatural and all, but they've got the gold to pay for good forces, you know. Plus they bring in a lot of tourists-"

"He's not from the orphanage," Clint interrupted. He tried not to dwell on what the orphanage actually was. "He's my son."

The innkeeper shrugged.

"But, while we're talking about it, do you know of any ships leaving the planet?"

"Leaving the planet? Nobody leaves this planet."

Clint cocked an eyebrow. "There's a port. Ships lands. Ships leave. People must leave, too."

"Sure, but only the wealthiest... although, now that you mention it, the refugees should be leaving in a few days."

"Refugees?"

"Yeah. Some rich do-gooder in the Hansel district gets a ship full of refugees off the planet once a year. They have to pay still, but fares are only a third of the normal price. But where are you from, that you don't know this? You can't have just come in, newcomers are prepped at Mount Bourne before-"

"Never mind where I'm from," Clint snapped. "Where can I find this ship?"

"The docks, I should think," the innkeeper responded condescendingly. "Here, I can give you a map."

"Thanks."

Clint turned away. He returned to the room. Loki had cast aside his blankets, and was crouching all blue by the stove. As soon as he heard the door open, he made a mad dash and scramble for the bed, diving under it. It wouldn't be much protection if Ver-Men and his goons found them, but it was all he had, Clint supposed.

The archer knelt and peered at Loki. "You can come out, it's just me."

The red eyes were unconvinced.

"Come on," Clint coaxed. Loki still didn't move. "Fine."

Clint stood and checked over their supplies. Perhaps he should move around, like a mother lion moved her cubs-

_Seriously, Barton? Comparing yourself to a mommy kitty cat? You're not his father, he's not your son._

"I have to go again. The innkeeper told me about some refugee ship. Hopefully I'll be able to barter our way off this planet... If nothing else, I can scope out the kree ship. I'll be back before dark." He hesitated a moment, and then knelt back down to look at Loki's blue form curled up as far away from him as possible. "And while I'm gone, try to figure out a way to let me know what's wrong with you, okay?" He waited. "I don't suppose you'll let me know if you need anything? No, didn't think so." He stood again. "Well, I'm gonna need gloves."

He yanked on the coat he had bought, pulling the hood over his head to hide his face somewhat. He slipped the healing balm into his pocket, just in case, and left the inn. After stopping by the market to buy the needed gloves and to collect more information on the refugee ship, he headed for the docks. It wasn't was far was he thought it was; he had only walked a few hours before the wooden buildings turned into glass ones. He bent his head just enough to keep his face covered, and eyes the crowds for familiar faces.

From the descriptions he had received, it was easy to find the ship. It was large and bulky, comparable to a barge or cargo ship rather than the sleek transport the Kree bounty hunters owned. He observed it a moment before joining a line that appeared to be people begging for passage off the planet.

When Clint got to the front of the line, he faced a bored-looking man who would have looked human except the vivid green spikes growing out of his head. He surveyed Clint for a moment before gesturing him to the desk.

"Looking for a way off the planet?"

"For me and my son, yes."

The alien frowned. "How old is he?"

"Young."

The alien hummed. "Nope, no good. We don't take children."

"He's small, he won't take up much room."

"No. Leave him behind and it'll be two thousand credits."

Clint willed himself to remain calm. "I can't leave him behind."

"Then you'll have to stay here." The alien paused. "Unless... Look, I might be able to cut you a deal for one of the crew's rooms, just for this trip. I'll have to clear it with the captain, and it will be extra, but I might be able to work something out."

Relief flooded the archer, but he forced himself not to show it. "Thank you."

"Wait here."

The alien went up the nearby gangplank into the ship and was gone for an hour. When he returned, he had with him another of the spiky aliens, only this one was a woman had purple streaks spreading over her face. She wore a crest on her uniform much like the one that Cax-Ure had worn. Perhaps that was the insignia of captains?

"My lieutenant tells me that you're wanting passage with a child."

Clint nodded. "He doesn't eat a lot or take up a lot of room-"

"I have no patience for children."

"He's quiet."

The captain tapped her foot. "How quiet?"

"He hasn't uttered a word since his mother died."

"Hmm. Well, I can ask my crew to share rooms in order for you to have a place on the ship. But you'll be expected to cover the cost of wages for one of them until we reach Sigma."

Clint had a feeling that was going to be a lot. "How much would that be?"

"Ten thousand credits."

"_Ten thousand?"_

"Come back when your son is older, or dead, or you have the money." The captain turned away.

"Wait, can't we figure this out? Barter?"

"You have nothing I want."

_He won't fetch enough to cover half the cost of the balm it would take just to get him walking proper again._

"Wait," Clint said again, and this time he pulled the container of healing balm he had taken from the inn. "What about this?"

The captain looked stunned to see the container. "Where did you get that on this rock?"

"Never mind where I got it. I can get more. Lots more."

The captain wet her lips. "So you will trade the devil's balm for safe passage off of the planet?"

"For me and my son, yes."

The captain's gaze went up to his face. She nodded once. "You must be a desperate man, whoever you are. But the profit that stuff will bring me is worth it. Very well. Bring me twenty containers of that size, and you and your son will be given room aboard my ship. We leave in two days just before the sun sets. Don't be late."

Clint nodded. He tucked the balm back into his pocket and walked away quickly.

Now, to sneak back aboard the bounty hunters' ship and steal from them.

Joy.

#

Clint Barton first met Phil Coulson when he was in a jail cell. B&E. Aggravated assault. Some other stupid charges. The police had grilled him for a bit, asking how a fifteen-year-old managed to get into such trouble. Clint had replied with various sarcastic comments that left even the 'good cop' gripping the edges of his chair. They had put him in a cell and left him there. He didn't care. He'd been in far worse cases.

_ The door opened, and Clint looked up to see a brown-haired man in a dark suit walk in. His gaze was calm and steady, and he carried himself with incredible self-confidence. Clint narrowed his eyes. This man was only about ten years older than himself, and certainly didn't look like the usual headshrinkers that he was forced to listen to._

_ Can you tell me about your little sister? Can you tell me about your father?_

_ As if they didn't have the answers to that all in their little perfect folders, along with the many labels he had received over the years._

_ "You really screwed up here, didn't you Barton?" the man started, leaning against the wall and looking down Clint with a wry smile on his face._

_ Clint frowned. "What's it to you?"_

_ "I'm Phil Coulson."_

_ "So?"_

_ Coulson studied Clint for a while, and Clint didn't like the calmness of the man's stance._

_ "What do you want?"_

_ Coulson's stance didn't change. "You broke into my house."_

_ "So that was your dump."_

_ "You could have gotten in and out without anybody ever knowing. But instead you decide to pick a fight just outside. Why?"_

_ Clint sneered at the man. "He bumped into me."_

_ "No. No, that's not it. You see, Barton, I've been looking at your record. Impressive. The jewelry store in Boston, especially. You're good at what you do. You're also very handy with the bow and arrow, too, I see."_

_ Clint frowned. Nobody had seen the jewelry store. He had pulled it off without a hitch. "I don't know what you're talking about."_

_ "There's no use lying to me, Barton. I'm not with the police, and I'm not going to tell them. But I do know what you did to your father. And why. I know that you're still consumed by anger, guilt, hatred... I know because I've been there, too. I'm going to offer you a choice right here, right now. You can either let me help you, or you can tell me to go to hell. Now. What's it going to be?"_

Clint half-smiled at the memory of meeting the man who would one day become his mentor, and only father worth mentioning, before putting those memories aside. After leaving the refugee ship, he found a nice spot where he could observe the bounty hunters' ship and spent the rest of the day noting all the movement to and from it. It was very few times that he had seen anybody, but when he had, there had been a lot of shouting. Ver-Men was become more agitated, that was clear. That meant he was getting more dangerous.

If this was a proper job, Clint would have scoped out the ship a few more days. But he didn't have the time. He'd have to strike the next day.

The innkeeper wasn't around, but a staff member was waiting with the extra coal and blankets, and Clint paid for them. His mind was occupied with planning the next day's heist when he opened the room and found Loki sitting on the bed with a knife pressed to his chest.

His small blue hands trembled as he pressed the point against his sternum, his gaze on the blade, his breathing rapid, his small shoulders shaking. Clint's first reaction was to drop everything and lunge for the knife, but his training stopped him.

_Don't spook him. Don't force his hand._

The archer carefully set down his supplies and walked to one side to ensure that the toddler-demigod could see him. As he did so, he pulled on his new gloves, in case he had to physically restrain the boy.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Loki?" he asked calmly.

Loki's grip tightened.

"It's okay if you do, you know. It doesn't mean that you're weak," the archer continued, walking forward slowly, making sure that his steps were audible but not harsh or threatening. "You've been put through a lot of pain. Nobody would blame you for wanting to escape. But think about it first. There is no way back from death."

Clint paused a moment. "That was a stupid thing to say, wasn't it? You've been thinking about this for a long time. Most people fight back to the end when they're being strangled. But you gave up. Why? Is it because you knew they were coming? I don't think so, otherwise you would have gone with Thor. Is it because you want to die, you think that you can't escape death, or because you think you deserve to die?

"On the ship while I listened to you scream I wondered why you fought back when it always got worse when you did… It got to the point where I didn't want you to fight back, because I couldn't stand to hear it anymore. Why didn't I say anything? But I realized something. When they made you pass out, you didn't have nightmares. The pain gave you an excuse to cry. And I guess that's why I didn't say anything. Because I've been there too and there's no words that can stop that…"

He was close enough to reach the knife. Loki's trembling had increased, his breathing more broken.

"I'm going to take that knife now, okay?"

Clint put his hand over Loki's, gently pulling the weapon away from him. Ice was glazed over the handle. Loki let it go, and then curled his head and his knees both to his chest, his arms hiding his face. Clint sat beside him, putting the knife down on his other side. He put his hand on the boy's back – Loki flinched – and began rubbing soothingly in small circles. He could feel the cold seeping through his glove onto his smarting palm. Loki tensed, but didn't pull away.

"I don't know what you expect me to do, and I don't know if I'm treating you too much like a child…" Clint trailed off_. I don't know if you're manipulating me. I don't know how to get out of here. I don't know, I don't know…_ "I don't know what I'm doing."

He continued to rub Loki's back. _What am I _trying_ to do here?_

Suddenly Loki uncurled and latched his arms around Clint's chest, hiding his face in Clint's shirt, shaking like a leaf and so tense that he could have been made of stone, his muscles were so hard. Clint fought the instantaneous urge to push him away. Awkwardly, he continued to rub Loki's back, casually moving the knife further away, out of Loki's reach. Even through the coat, he could feel the cold radiate off the small body.

_How desperate are you,_ he thought, _to take comfort in someone who has only been your enemy?_


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, STARSCREAM RULEZ, Oriana8, Love2readFantasy, Suheyla, pallyndrome, GlOmP3R, doesthatmakemepokey, and Ale for their reviews!**

**#**

_Get in, get the stuff, get out. It was never going to be that easy_, Clint mused as he stumbled into the inn. Ver-Men and his fellow bounty hunters had the place surrounded. There was no way he could fight his way out of this one. His whole body stung and burned, the cuts and bruises screaming at him with every step. How had Loki managed to go for months with this and not break? Oh, wait. He did. He didn't talk anymore.

_"Bring the trickster out," _Ver-Men had said as he pushed Clint into the street, staying hidden himself from view_. "Do that, human, and we'll keep our deal."_

**Twenty hours earlier**

Could he leave Loki alone? Clint looked at the little blue boy who was pretending to be asleep, swaddled in blankets close to the stove. Tracks of ice tears ran down his cheeks. He still refused to talk, and several times Clint had caught him looking at the knife or blaster with an emotionless expression. If he left the boy alone, he could very well return to a corpse.

But he couldn't take him along, and he needed the devil's balm to get off the planet. Unless he somehow killed all the bounty hunters. Going on a killing spree seemed like a pretty bad idea, though. He didn't know the rules of this place.

"I know you're not asleep," Clint said, plucking the knife from the table. "Get under the bed. You know you're going to hide there as soon as I leave anyway."

It was the quickest Clint had seen him move. He abandoned the pile of blankets- the inner ones were frozen- and scrambled under the bed. The archer quickly arranged the extra blankets on the bed, to make it look like a small body was sleeping under the quilt. Then he knelt and pushed the knife in to Loki.

"Just in case you need to defend yourself, if Ver-Men finds you."

Both knew that Clint meant _"If Ver-Men finds you, so you can kill yourself rather than be taken prisoner again."_

"Don't use it unless you have to."

Loki's blood red eyes met Clint's. His fingers curled over the hilt of the knife and pulled it in. With his free hand, he knocked four times on the floor.

Clint nodded. "I'll knock four times before I come in."

Loki nodded and then turned around, his back facing Clint.

The archer got to his feet. He retrieved the blaster, pulled on his coat, and headed out.

**Present**

The archer found the room quickly. He leaned against the doorframe and knocked four times before entering. He went to the pack that held the devil's balm he had stolen from Ver-Men's ship hours ago and added the five new containers. He swung it onto his shoulders, and then went to the bed.

Loki was just starting to emerge from under it. He saw Clint's condition instantly. His eyes widened and the archer could see that he worked out the deal he had made with Ver-Men just as quickly.

The knife in his hand flashed, but Clint was on him, pinning the blade with his knee, wrestling the demigod down. Loki began to fight. The boy was tiny, though, and the archer was easily able to twist the knife from his hand and then pin his arms to his sides, clasping the child to his chest.

**Eighteen Hours Earlier**

The bounty hunters' ship looked deserted. Clint knew from his previous day's observations that there were always at least two on board. Maybe more. He glanced at the sky. It was almost dark. The docks were mostly deserted. It was time. Quickly he strode out from between the two buildings that had been shading him.

Holding the blaster at the ready, Clint walked confidently onto the ship. Sneaking would arouse the suspicions of others in the area. Once inside, however, the game changed. His senses went on high alert; his eyes searched the dim light for anything out of the ordinary, his ears sharpened to pick up the smallest sound, and the double-sense he had developed through his years of training made his skin buzz. His footsteps were light and soft.

It was easier and quicker than he expected to make his way to the cargo bay. Experience told him not to put the weapon down, but he had to in order to gather the small, glass containers of healing balm from the shelf. He needed twenty. He took thirty. Swinging the pack back onto his shoulders, he left again. The cold night air bit his skin.

It was far too easy, unless he had been extremely lucky.

And Clint didn't believe in luck.

He dodged through the streets and alleys until he was certain he knew how many were following him. Only two. Had they called him in? Were they weaving a trap around him? Clint stepped out of sight. Whatever they were doing, these two following him were pretty good. He'd have to be careful.

The rounded the corner and he shot one, and then turned the blaster to the other one. It was then that Clint realised that he did, in fact, believe in luck.

Bad luck.

The blaster choked and began smoking. The Kree he had shot stumbled back, fell to his knees. Not fatally injured. The other one rushed at Clint, smashed the useless blaster into the wall. Slammed his fist into his stomach. Clint groaned. Grabbed the kree's shoulders. Knee up. Connected with soft flesh. The Kree bent double. Elbow to neck, get him down. Other kree charged, sidestep, light tug on the wrist. Face-to-window, shattered glass. Blood everywhere. Arms around head, twist, snap, one down. Permanently. Other pushed back up; put a foot in his face. Stomp on his throat. Ignore the pain and fear. Enemy. Pin arms with knees, choke the breath out of him. Hold on a little longer after he goes still.

Clint pushed himself back to his feet. Wiped blood off his hands. Adrenaline was coursing through him, giving him the rush of euphoria he always had to fight so hard not to feel. Killing was not something that should feel _good_. And yet-

He shoved himself aside, shutting down his emotions like he so often did, and calmly left the alley. He took a detoured path, but after several hours decided that he was not being followed and headed back to the inn. Knocked four times, entered. Loki began to crawl out from under the bed. Set the pack down on the table.

Moved to the window. Checked to see if there was anything suspicious. Nothing. Had he made it without drawing attention to himself?

Loki cried out. Clint turned in time to see the containers of healing balm fall out of the pack and Loki backing away. His eyes were huge with fear. Clint opened his mouth to explain, stepping forward. Loki dove back under the bed.

_Well done, Barton, now what?_

It was obvious what Loki was expecting Clint to do. He had left the knife behind though, so that was something. The archer sighed. Laying on his stomach, he looked under the bed. Loki was pressed against the furthest corner, laying on his side, knees drawn to his chest, blood-red eyes wide. Like a beaten animal.

_No, like a beaten child. Don't start thinking of him as an animal._

Clint was quiet, watching Loki as the boy cowered, his body shaking, tears freezing on his blue cheeks.

"It's expensive stuff, right?" Clint said eventually, not moving, but Loki flinched anyway. "I'm using it to barter our way off the planet. That's all." The archer was silent for a moment longer. "Stay there as long as you need to."

He got up again and went back to the window. Still nothing. Then he turned back to the pack. His stomach dropped. Some of the containers had been broken.

Cursing, Clint dumped out the pack onto the table and separated the whole containers from the broken ones. Some of the balm got on his knuckles and stung. He ignored the pain and counted up what he had left. Fifteen. Half of them had been smashed in his fight with the kree.

He had to go back.

**Present**

Loki didn't cry out. He fought for a while, his breathing haggard, and then suddenly went limp. His chest heaved. His heart hammered. Clint kept him tightly contained, just in case. The cold from Loki's body soaked through his clothes.

"Please."

The whispered word was so soft and hoarse that Clint could hardly hear it. The archer let out a sigh and leaned his head back against the wall.

"Please."

**Fifteen Hours Earlier**

Clint had left Loki in the same situation as he had before, alone, hiding under the bed. He had not bothered to explain his plan of how to get five more containers of the balm. Mainly because he didn't have a plan. The ship no doubt would be more heavily guarded. Even if the two who had followed him didn't call Ver-Men with the knowledge of his whereabouts, somebody would have found their bodies. It would not do to assume complacency.

After making his way to the docks, scoping out the ship that now buzzed with as much activity as a hornet's nest, Clint came up with a plan. The stupidest, riskiest plan ever to be dreamt up. At least, that's what Clint told himself when he decided on his course of action. And during. And after.

He would let himself get caught.

Natasha would kill him for even considering something this suicidal. As would Coulson... _Don't think about them!_ It would only make him homesick, distract him...

Deliberately waiting until several of the aliens were clustered nearby, he moved stealthily towards the ship, his pace fast, his eyes on the ground. Was he being too obvious? Clint risked a glanced at the kree. They all seemed to be ignoring him. Seriously? He was going through all the trouble of trying to get caught and they couldn't be bothered to turn their heads in his direction?

He ducked behind a large container nearby. He couldn't just stroll onto the ship. That would be far too obvious! And yet these doofuses weren't paying attention. Clint observed them, and spotted little bags of green capsules being passed among them. That explained a few things. He stood up again, and began a full-out run into the ship. Make it look like he was desperate.

"Hey!"

Finally! He changed direction mid-stride, veering away from the kree. He heard shouting behind him and then the sound of pursuit.

It occurred to him a little late that these particular aliens might be stupid enough to shoot first and ask questions later. A blast of energy surged by his head and collided into another ship.

_Barton, you're an idiot_, he thought, and then threw himself face-first into the ground.

"He tripped!" one of the kree shouted triumphantly.

Clint resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Why did henchmen always have to be so stupid? Just once he'd like a little challenge–

A foot connected with his ribs as he pushed himself to his knees. Another stomped on his hands and fists pounded his back. He grunted with the pain, instinctively shielding his head from the blows.

"Hold it!" one of the aliens shouted, and the kicking and punching stopped. "Ver-Men will want him."

Clint was hoisted to his feet. The kree all sneered at him as they half-dragged, half-pushed him to their ship.

"Where's the trickster, human?" the one who had stopped the others demanded. "What were you doing, coming here anyway?"

Clint remained silent. Now was the tricky part. He ignored the taunts and questions as the aliens took him to the cargo bay. Stripped off his shirt, strapped him to the torture table where they had made Loki bleed so very often. He gave it a decent fight; several of the kree were nursing bruises by the time he was completely restrained.

"I've radioed Ver-Men," a shorter kree came in through the doors. "He wants the human to himself. We are to leave it alone until he gets here."

There were murmurs of protest, but the rest of the kree filed out, leaving Clint alone. He tested his restraints; they were solid. Well. The only thing to do was to wait and see if this crazy, stupid plan would work.

**Present**

"Please."

Loki fell silent again after his third plea, his small body shaking with fear. Clint still didn't dare loosen his grip. The pain from the balm was making it difficult for his thoughts to stay orderly. They flowed into one another, jumbling up, knotting. Switching mid-thought and then dying.

"So this is what it took for you to start talking again?" the archer murmured. "All right, then. What happened to you? I mean, why are you blue?"

"Jotünn," Loki replied. "True form."

"Oh." Clint shifted slightly, and Loki tried to get his arm free, but Clint tightened his grip again. "If I cut your throat, will that stuff heal you?"

**Twelve Hours Earlier**

"It was stupid of you to return, human," Ver-Men said, settling himself down beside Clint, sharpening his knife on a whetstone.

Clint watched the blade idly. Knives were the least of his fears when it came to pain and the threat of death. It was just the two of them in the cargo bay, although the archer was sure that he could hear members of the crew jostling for position to listen at the door.

"Stupid, or desperate," Ver-Men continued. "Life not as cozy here as it is on your precious earth?" A pause. "You know what we did to the trickster, and he had the protection of the titan's threat, do you really think that silence is a good answer?"

"Probably not," Clint admitted, keeping his voice easy. This would be the trickiest part, having the balance between fear and bravado, and letting that bravado crumple convincingly.

"Why did you take him? You gave a pretty convincing little speech about hating him before, I can't believe that you were lying through all of it."

"That's irrelevant."

Ver-Men shrugged. He set the knife down next to Clint's head and then went to the selection of branding irons. Scare tactics. This wasn't like with Loki. Then, the goal had merely been screams. This time, the kree wanted information. Clint swallowed down his rising fear. _Stick to the plan. Can't make it too easy._

Easy on whom?

"Do you even know what he has done?" Ver-Men continued, selecting a star-headed iron and placing it into the furnace.

"Not all of it."

"The little liar nearly got me beheaded on my own home world. He deserves what he got."

"Nobody deserves that, least of all a baby."

"You know as well as I do that he is not a _baby_."

"Still looks like one. It doesn't matter what he's done in the past, you weren't torturing him for revenge. You're just a sadist."

Ver-Men turned back with a smile. "What has he told you about me?"

"Nothing." Clint looked in the kree's eye. "He hasn't talked since we left here."

"The Silver Tongue hasn't spoken?" Ver-Men contemplated him for a moment, and the shrugged. "He'll still be able to scream."

"You really are disgusting."

"So I've been told. Usually by people in your position. But enough about me. You could make this easier on yourself, human, although that would be very boring..." The kree picked up a pair of pliers and walked back to Clint, inspecting his hands. "Nails chewed right down. Were you expecting to be caught?"

"Thought it was a possibility."

"Then why come back at all?"

Silence.

Ver-Men smiled. "You are going to let me have fun, are you?"

"I suppose so."

"Where is the trickster?"

Silence.

_One thousand._ Clint grit his teeth, swallowing back the scream that clawed at his throat as Ver-Men picked up the knife again and carefully cut under his thumb nail. _Nine hundred and ninety-three. _The pliers gripped the newly-loosened nail.

Ver-Men dropped the bloody nail onto Clint's bare chest. "Did you know that the balm heals everything? I can rip off your fingernails again and again and again..."

_Nine hundred and eighty-six._

Another nail bounced on Clint's chest. _Nine hundred and seventy-nine._ And another. _Nine hundred and seventy-two._ And another...

"Just tell me when it gets too bad, human," Ver-Men said, pausing to wipe Clint's blood from his fingers onto a white handkerchief. "And then we can talk about a replacement for you."

_Nine hundred and sixty-five._

**Present**

"Well? Will they be able to heal you?" Clint asked, his bloody fingers tightening on Loki's arms.

Loki shook his head.

Clint reached for the knife, releasing Loki. The demigod remained still, letting his head fall back against Clint's shoulder, exposing the veins and arteries in his throat.

"I have a plan," Clint said, painfully getting back to his feet, picking up Loki with one arm and gripping the knife with his free hand. "It's crazy and stupid, but it just might work. But if it doesn't... I won't let them take you again. That's a promise."

Loki nodded and curled into Clint's chest. His forehead touched exposed skin just above Clint's collarbone. The freezing didn't hurt much compared the rest of the agony throughout Clint's body. The archer made his way over to the window, brushing back the curtain a little. He gestured inward, and then closed the curtain again. Then he sat down at the table, put the knife to Loki's throat, and waited for Ver-Men to enter.

**Six Hours Earlier**

"You're good, I'll give you that much. I've dealt with stronger species that took less time to beg for the end."

Clint panted for breath, his face wet with tears of agony. Ver-Men set down the cattle prod he had been using and snatched a container of the devil's balm off the nearby shelf. Clint tried not to groan in dismay. In the pain of the whips and knifes and ice and fire, he had forgotten about how much that stuff hurt.

Ver-Men twisted the lid off and started dabbing the stuff onto Clint's wounds. The archer grit his teeth, but couldn't stop the moan of pain.

"Is he really worth it all, human?" Ver-Men asked, shaking his head. "And I ask that sincerely. What has he done to make you willing to suffer that much?"

"If I don't wanna answer that?"

"I thought we agreed that you were going to answer all of my questions now."

Clint forced out a strangled laugh. "No, we agreed to talk about where Loki is."

"Loki? Is that his name?" Ver-Men dropped another few notches below garbage. "Where is he?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't do you any good."

Ver-Men pressed his thumb against a star-shaped burn on Clint's neck.

"If he sees you coming, he'll kill himself," Clint grunted, tears of pain welling in his eyes. "And you don't want that."

Ver-Men paused and withdrew. "You have a proposal to make then?"

Clint gasped for a moment, and then turned his head to look directly into the kree's eye. "If I turn him over to you, I want something in return."

"You can have your life."

"Not good enough."

Ver-Men laughed in surprise. "Not good enough?"

"No. I want some of that stuff," Clint jerked his head to the healing balm.

"Why?"

"Why do you think? I don't want to be stuck on this planet, I'm gonna need something to barter with. Why else do you think I'd risk coming back?"

"As I recall, you also said that you wanted to join in our fun with the trickster. You lied about that."

"If I hadn't been given the opportunity to escape, I would have continued to lie about that, up to and after you handed him over to the titan."

"Would you, though?"

"Unless other options were presented."

"What sort of options?"

"Like the one I took."

Ver-Men stood and walked to the shelves of healing balm. He took one down and turned it over in his hands. "You were already here. Took some. Why come back?"

"I was ambushed and the containers broke." Cool tears ran down his feverish temples. The pain from the balm was getting worse. Clint sucked in deep breaths. "Do we have a deal or not?"

"How many containers do you want?"

"Twenty."

Ver-Men laughed.

"Twenty!"

"Five."

Clint grit his teeth. _You need five. No! Bargain for more. Don't make it obvious._ "Fifteen. Up front."

Ver-Men sat back down. He inspected Clint's hand; the fingernails hadn't yet regrown. "Ten. You get half now, half when the trickster's back in my custody."

Clint couldn't stop the flinch as Ver-Men reached for a branding iron. "Don't."

"Do we have a deal?"

The kree's amused face was blurred by the pools in Clint's eyes. He blinked to clear them. Ver-Men picked up the iron.

"Deal," Clint blurted.

Ver-Men smiled. "Good."

"You should know, before we go, that he's turned blue."

**Present**

The kree entered calmly. Clint half-expected the door to be kicked in, flying almost halfway across the room before falling with a thud. But he supposed that only happened in corny films. Loki tensed as Ver-Men entered, flanked by two of his cronies. That left at least three outside. The alien's gaze snapped to the knife against Loki's throat instantly and he grabbed one of his companions as the man raised his blaster.

"You really are a stupid man, human," Ver-Men sneered.

"Am I? One false move and your bounty'll be bleeding all over the floor."

"The balm will heal him."

"No it won't."

Ver-Men straightened his leather gloves, eyes narrowing. "You do realise that you've lost whatever chance you had of getting out of this, don't you?"

"I think that I've only just gained a way out." Clint smiled calmly despite the screaming pain. "Put your weapons on the floor, and then take off your boots and jackets."

Ver-Men hesitated only a moment before gesturing to his men. They all placed their blasters onto the floor. One dropped a knife as well. Ver-Men gestured to the weapons, giving Clint an expectant look. Clint cocked his eyebrow. He pressed his blade tighter against Loki's throat. Ver-Men smirked and drew three knives from his jacket and boots. The others followed suit, laying down more weapons. Ver-Men shrugged off his jacket and tossed it aside, and then took off his boots as well.

"Your next demand?"

"Against that wall," Clint jerked his head to the back of the room. "And call in the rest of your men."

Ver-Men gestured to his companions, and they silently walked to the far wall. One of the kree spoke into a cuff radio. Keeping a careful eye on them, Clint moved to the pile of weapons. With the knife still at Loki's throat, he set the boy down.

"Get me a blaster, will you?"

Loki handed Clint a gun. Clint readied it and pointed it at Loki's head, sliding the knife into his belt. More effective weapon. Loki turned and buried his face into Clint's shoulder, wrapping his thin arms around the archer's neck. Ver-Men frowned at he watched.

"At least you weren't lying about his being blue. What did you do to him?"

"What did _I _do?" Was it worth blasting Ver-Men's face off? Nah, better not risk it. Yet. "Start tearing up a few of those blankets into strips five inches wide."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Ver-Men shrugged and did as Clint told him. The archer pushed a chair to the wall and sat down so he could watch both the kree and the door. Soon a few more of the crew came in. At Clint's orders, and Ver-Men's command that they obey, they dropped their weapons and joined their fellows. There was quite a pile of strips of cloth now.

"You, with the big nose, to the center of the room."

The kree he addressed looked offended, but obeyed.

"Now you, Shorty. Tie his hands behind his back. Turn, I want to see what you're doing."

"Well, this is going to take forever," Ver-Men muttered in annoyance. "Why not just kill us?"

"Shooting you would cause too much noise, and I don't think I could threaten you into killing yourselves."

"You are not going to like what I will do to you, once this is over."

Clint ignored him. "Now lie down over there, nosy. On your face, so I can see your hands. Shorty, tie his feet and gag him. You with the eyepatch, step forward. Pointy head, tie him up. Relax, patchy. Stop tensing your muscles, I want those bindings tight."

Three more of the crew entered the room. Clint cast his gaze over those assembled already. There were at least five faces missing, but those were only the ones he knew for certain were out there. He really had no idea how many more there were. His plan was feeling stupider with every passing moment.

"He's manipulating you," Ver-Men said after Clint ordered Shorty and Pointy to move on to Elf-ears and Spike-hair. "You know that, right?"

"Did I ask for your input?"

Ver-Men fell silent. It took several hours, and quite a few more new arrivals, but at last all the kree were bound and gagged and lying face down on the floor. It wouldn't hold them long, Clint knew, but it was the best that he could do. He stood stiffly, the pain from his healing injuries even worse than before. Loki still clung around his neck.

"I'm taking Loki out of here now, but I won't hesitate to kill him if I suspect that I'm being followed. And I'm pretty good at knowing these sort of things, just ask- Well, there's a long line of people you could ask, but they're pretty much all dead."

How much trouble would one blast cause? Too much. _Can't risk blowing off Ver-Men's head._ Clint backed out of the room, and kicked the door shut behind him. He glanced quickly around, but saw nothing to barricade the door with. Oh well. He readjusted Loki, hiding the blaster between their two bodies, and quickly left the inn. He had to fight the urge to run. _Can't draw attention to ourselves, can we?_

He made it to the docks without incident, and jogged up to the refuge ship. The sun was still quite high in the sky, but no use waiting around until the last moment, was there?

The captain was standing outside of the ship, arguing with a thin, spindly person who looked entirely human. They seemed to be arguing. Clint's stomach dropped as he got closer. There were black circles on the ship's hull. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Ah, you," the captain muttered when she saw Clint. Her gaze narrowed on Loki. "That's your kid, huh?"

"Yes. I've got the-"

The captain snatched the pack from his hand, and looked inside for a quick count. She nodded once. "Good. There's been a change of plans, though. Some idiot kree put a few holes in our bulkheads not three hours ago. They think that just because they run the commerce on this planet it means they can do whatever they want! Accused me of smuggling skrulls onto the planet. Skrulls! I don't care about their stupid war, I run an honest business-"

"We can still leave though, right?" Clint asked, already resigned to the answer. Ver-Men obviously knew that this was the ship that could take him and Loki off the planet and sabotaged it. What else had he done?

"No. It's going to take at least a week for repairs. You and your son will have to find some place to stay until then. I can't take care of you. But I'll take your payment now."

"Unlikely."

"Pay me upfront, and I swear I will not leave this planet without you and your boy."

Clint hesitated. He had no reason to trust the captain. But on the other hand, if he kept the containers with him, he risked breaking more. His shoulders sagging, the archer nodded. "Agreed. One week?"

"One week."


	9. Chapter 9

** Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, Suheyla, Maybell's Stories, Dazja, Guest, and ArainaHaldthin for their reviews!**

**And I am so, so sorry! I honestly forget about uploading yesterday. So sorry.**

**#**

_Clint opened the door leading out into the roof and held it back for Romanoff. She raised one eyebrow at him with a wry smile. He shrugged and returned the smile._

_ "Worth a try, right?"_

_ "I suppose a desperate man can't be faulted for trying to stay alive."_

_ Clint stepped out onto the roof, the cool air brushed through his hair, the stars were bright. He wasn't as frightened as he was during the times when he imagined his own death. Facing the thing wasn't that bad. He heard the click of a gun._

_ "Miss Romanoff, can I ask you a question first?" he turned to see that she already had the weapon pointed at his head. He looked past to her face; she contemplated him for a moment and then nodded._

_ "Do you enjoy it? This life. I've been doing this since I was fifteen. I sometimes think of what else I could do, given a choice. But you've lived your whole life like this…"_

_ "I do what I have to do, just like everybody else."_

_ "But do you enjoy it?"_

_ Romanoff frowned at him. The gun lowered a fraction. Clint reacted. He grabbed the barrel of the gun, twisting it away from himself. Romanoff fired a second too late. Punched at his face. He blocked the blow. Swung at her. Blocked. Romanoff lifted the gun again, Clint grabbed her arm. Swung her around- her dress made her stumble, he flipped her onto her back. Wrested the gun from her, straddled her stomach to pin her in place and pressed the gun to her forehead._

_ Romanoff smiled. "Well, I always knew this day would come. Be a gentleman, Clint. I would have killed you quickly. Return the favour."_

_ She remained smiling. Clint hesitated. _This is what you were trained to do. This is your mission. Do it.

_ And then a small voice, buried by memories and time. _I had a bad dream. Clint.

_ "No," Clint said softly. "I'm not going to kill you quickly, Miss Romanoff."_

_ Romanoff's smile remained, but fear crept into her eyes. Clint stood, and gestured for her to do the same. She did, folding her arms over her chest – To hide her cleavage, perhaps? Clint's brow furrowed. How often had men spared her life to attempt a sexual assault? How many times had they succeeded?_

_ "I'm probably wrong about this, but I think that you want out of this life. You want to have a purpose, not ruled by fear and anger and hate and revenge and the need to survive…"_

_ "What's your point?"_

_ "I'm going to give you a chance, Natasha. You can either let me help you, or-" Clint turned the gun around, offering it to her. "Or you can send me to hell. Now. What will it be?"_

_ Romanoff's frown increased. She studied Clint before taking the gun back. The archer ignored the panic at his stupidity. He remained relaxed. Romanoff glanced down at the gun. Looked back at him. Raised her hand. Fired._

Clint shook himself from his memories. His teeth were chattering from the proximity of Loki's coldness, and his arms were starting to ache. He needed to find a safe place to hide out for a week. Ver-Men and the other bounty hunters would not be contained for long.

"I don't suppose you know of any place to go?" he asked Loki.

The boy pointed.

"That way?" Loki gave him a look that reminded Clint of the old Loki, the one who thought he was smarter than everybody else. The archer smirked. "That way it is."

With Loki's directions, they were soon out of the city. To Clint's surprise, it was surrounded by dense forest. His brow furrowed. With all this wood, why did they burn coal? Clint made his way into the forest until he found a thick grove of trees that would be able to hide a fire, which would be necessary since they had no blankets and couldn't share body heat.

"All right, we'll stay here for tonight, but honestly this isn't the best hiding place," Clint said, putting Loki down.

He groaned with the aches and pain still skittering throughout his body. Sitting down, he flexed his left hand. His fingernails were almost fully grown back again. Loki crouched down, stretching his neck to get a better look at Clint's injuries.

"That stuff hurts," the archer muttered. "Are you alright?"

Loki touched his throat, and checked his fingers, presumably to see if he was bleeding. Seeing nothing, he nodded.

"I'll get a fire started, it's going to get cold tonight." Clint reached for some of the sticks lying around.

Loki grabbed his wrist. Clint cried out as the skin-on-skin froze him. The demigod pulled his hand back as if he was the one burned. The small black handprint smarted, and Clint hissed through his teeth.

"What was that about?" he snarled.

Loki flinched, and then pointed at the wood and shook his head.

"I'll keep it small, they won't see it."

Loki shook his head more emphatically

Clint glared at the boy. "What, will the wood explode or something?"

Loki nodded.

"Are you serious?"

Nod.

Clint rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath. "No food, no fire, no proper hiding place... yeah, I'm gonna be dead by the time I wake up tomorrow."

Loki hunched over his knees. The archer looked down at him. That metal collar was covered in frost. The demigod flinched when Clint patted his back.

"It's gonna be okay. We're gonna get out of this. We just have to stay underground for a week."

Loki glanced at him, and then a strange look passed over his face. He looked up at the sky, and surged to his feet. Clint followed his gaze. There were two birds circling each other, but nothing else. Whatever.

"Stay here," Clint muttered, shakily getting to his feet. He needed to relieved himself. "I'll be right back."

When he got back, Loki was gone.

Clint froze. He glanced around quickly, but there was no sign of the little demigod. Cursing quietly, he searched the ground. Soon he found a small set of footprints leading away from the grove. From the distance between each step, Loki ran at full pace. Did he think that Clint was still going to turn him over to the kree?

He couldn't have gone too far. Clint followed the footprints, but soon it was too dark to see anything.

"Curse you, you little..." Clint swore. How was he supposed to keep Ver-Men from recapturing Loki if Loki took off like this? "Loki? Come on, I promised I wouldn't let them get you again, but I can't if... Where are you?"

Perhaps Loki had returned to the grove? Clint turned, but he couldn't see where he had come from. He slumped to the ground. He would have to resume the search at first light.

#

Clint woke suddenly as something hard and sharp pierced into his shoulder. With a muffled yelp, he swung around defensively. A large black bird hopped out of arm's reach and started at him.

"What the-" the archer checked his shoulder. It was bleeding, but only a little. He looked back at the bird. Was it a raven? No, it couldn't be. How would a raven get way out here? Besides that, it was too large.

The horizon was just starting to lighten. Clint shivered. He had survived the night, at least! He started to stretch. The bird flapped its wings and croaked at him.

"Go away."

It blinked at him, and lunged forward to peck his hand. Clint cried out, grabbed a rock and hurled it at the bird. It easily avoided the projectile and croaked at him again.

"Get out of here!"

The bird scratched its beak against its leg, and then flew into the air. It flew in a circle for a moment, and then pooped on him.

"That's it!" Clint reached for his bow, only to remember he didn't have it with him.

The bird croaked at him again, dive bombing his head.

Clint glared at the bird. It pooped at him again, but this time he dodged the missile. Then he remembered the two birds from the previous day. His brow furrowed. Loki had seemed to recognise them, perhaps he had chased after them? But why?

"Huginn and Muninn," Clint murmured, remembering vaguely Erik Selvig prattling on about Norse mythology before Loki arrived on earth. "Odin's ravens that traveled the nine realms and brought him back news..."

Could it be? Hesitantly, Clint followed the bird as it headed away. It croaked encouragingly. It lead him through the thick brush, until he got to a wide clearing.

He saw a small figure lying on the ground, a second sitting on top of it. As Clint got closer, he saw that it was Loki, curled around, sleeping. The first bird circled over them, croaking. The second bird joined it. Loki woke, looking upwards instantly. The birds both swooped down. He didn't flinch as their wings brushed his head.

And then they were flying away.

Loki scrambled to his feet, reaching out as though he wanted to grab them. He cried out once, wordless and pained. If these were Odin's birds, did their departure mean that he couldn't – or wouldn't – come after them?

Clint walked up to Loki. The boy stared after the birds for a moment, and then, as though it took extraordinary effort, looked up at Clint. Tears streamed from his red eyes, freezing on his blue cheeks. He reached out, a child asking to be held without words. Clint picked him up. Loki buried his face into the archer's shoulder, his thin arms clinging around his neck.

"I'm going to get us out of this, Loki," Clint promised, heading back into the dense undergrowth, the cold from Loki's body making him shiver. "I promise."

#

It was too cold in the forest to stay, Clint soon decided. He needed to be able to get warm. Making sure Loki was safely hidden in the foliage, Clint covered him with leaves as best he could, hoping that would keep him warm until he returned.

Leaving the child asleep, he made his way into a populated area, his senses on highest alert now- he knew he stood out, the only human on an alien world, and under no illusions about his safety. He was out of money, so would have to steal whatever supplies he could find. Somehow... A figure burst out of the door he was about to open and they both fell sprawling. Clint's training kicked in. He threw his assailant off, rolling to his feet to find himself face to face with...

"Impossible!" he breathed as he looked himself in the eye.

"Skrull!" somebody shouted. Clint turned to see a portly kree rushing from the shop with something that looked like a crowbar. "It's a skrull! I saw it's eyes change!"

Clint turned to leave, but his double shoved him back; the next thing he knew a mob was on both of them.

Someone punched him in the face; hands grabbed him, threw him to the ground. His blaster was twisted out of his hand. They kicked him in the face, back, stomach, sides; buffeted by feet like a ship in a storm. Clint curled up, protecting his face and neck with his arms; the noise and pounding pain was too much, he couldn't get free, his blood would stain the ground-

Suddenly, it stopped. Clint remained in his protective position, but he heard low mutters and scuffling. He peered through his fingers and saw that his attackers were backing award from him. They parted and he saw Loki walking forward, his face pale, his steps faltering, his gaze on the ground.

What was he doing here? Was Ver-Men-?

Loki was holding a hand- a hand wrapped in red bandages. As he got closer, he saw that he walked beside a grey-cloaked figure. Inside the hood red wrappings shimmered.

Clint pushed himself to his feet. Stumbled. The red mummy caught him, picked him up as easily as a baby. The archer began to protest, but a sharp hiss from the mummy stopped him. The crowd backed away even further as she turned and walked back the way she had come, carrying Clint, Loki trailing behind.

They were silent as they went to the building where Clint had first encountered her_- the mummy's tomb, _he thought. It was empty. Inside, Clint was handed over to one of the burly guards, who helped him to the floor and handed him a cup of water.

"Rest, Clint Barton. No-one will risk our wrath, you are safe for the night," the red mummy said, and then held out her hand to Loki.

The demigod slipped his tiny hand into the bandaged one, turning as she turned.

"Wait!" Clint tried to push himself up, but the man held him down. "What are you going to do?"

"He made a deal for our protection. It is time to pay the price."

More of the red mummies were emerging from the small rooms at the back of the hall. One patted Loki's head fondly, another knelt and rubbed his back in a soothing manner. They all seemed to want to touch him. Like spinster aunts fawning over their favourite nephew. There were seven in total. Clint tried to push away his guard to no avail.

"What price?" the archer demanded loudly.

"In exchange for her protection, he will give them memories," the man pinning him down replied. "One each to intervene in the street, one each for every day it takes for you to recover."

Clint shook his head. "No-"

The archer's vision clouded over. Suddenly he found himself pushing through giants, panicked, conflicted. Pain stabbed into his neck from the metal collar around his neck, but he had to keep using magic, had to stay invisible- children were rare on this planet... Everything was out of proportion. His legs were too short, his arms too thin, the street too long…

He stopped outside the memory-takers, looking up at the hideous, familiar building. He took a deep breath and walked in.

They were waiting for him, the seven of them, wrapped in their red bindings. He felt sick seeing them again. He felt them probing his mind, but he had learned long ago to conceal his thoughts and feelings from others.

"Why have you come here, trickster?" they asked in unison.

He let them see the image in his mind, the skrull being flayed on the street. Barton trying to intervene – stupid man. Honor has no place on worlds without names – Barton beaten to cries of SKRULL COLLABORATOR!

_ I won't give any happy memories, _he thought, unwilling to open his mouth.

"Any memory is desirable to those who cannot create their own. Any taste is sweet to those who have no tongues."

The terms were unfolded in his mind. There was no time to haggle. He nodded, and one of the memory-takers took his hand-

_Why save his life when you are so certain he will end yours?_

_ He's my only protection from worse fates. And I hope- maybe somebody will come, if not for me, for him…_

_ Hope is a deadly thing, little one..._


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, Maybell's Stories, STARSCREAM RULEZ, Dazja, and ArainaHaldthin for their reviews!**

**#**

Clint woke lying on the floor, shaking and sweating. His limbs were incredibly heavy and it felt like a nail was in his head. He pushed himself half-up to see that he was in one of the back rooms of the mummy building. He was surrounded by ragged gauzy fabric. A sickly sweet smell filled the room, and he tasted the bile of vomit in his throat.

"Memories are a difficult thing," a voice said, and turning Clint saw one of the red mummies. Loki was in her lap, his hand against her chest as she stroked his black hair back from his pale forehead. His eyes were closed and his breathing was deep.

"Wha-" Clint started, but wound up coughing instead.

"A memory is part of a being, it makes them who they are. Taking it causes damage to that person it is taken from… we do not truly erase the memory from one's mind, we merely drain the color and taste from it. It is seen in its own mind as though through the eyes of another. And seven at once… The boy's sleep seems more restful, though, does it not? Not so many nightmares to haunt him."

Clint tried to reach out but found that his body was too heavy. He collapsed back again. "What did you do to me?"

"We shared a memory from his mind to yours. Trickier than merely taking one. We knew you would try to interfere. They wanted to take a memory to keep you in place. He told us to share with you one of his instead, so that you would understand."

"Is he-"

"Sleeping. Poor child. Such sad memories. If I could feel, I would weep."

Clint noted the use of I, not we. He opened his mouth-

"I am not connected with the others at the moment. We all have retreated into ourselves to savor these new tastes that the child has given us." The red mummy continued to stroke Loki's hair. "He gave me a day on that ship, being held down by disgraced kree officials while screams tore his throat and knives tore his skin. I have never tasted such delicious pain… but at the end of the memory, he was put in a cage, and you were next to him. You sang a song. He begged me not to take that song."

Clint frowned, his thoughts muddled. What song...? Oh. It was a lullaby, one that he used to sing to Cindy.

"Sing the baby song, Clint," she'd asked as she curled under his arm, tears streaming down her face. And he'd sing.

_Oh don't you remember_  
_a long time ago_  
_two poor little babes,_  
_their names I don't know,_  
_They strayed far away,_  
_on a bright summer's day._  
_These two little babes_  
_got lost on their way._

_Poor babes in the wood!_  
_poor babes in the wood!_  
_Oh! don't you remember_  
_those babes in the wood?_

_Among the trees high_  
_Beneath the blue sky_  
_They plucked the bright flowers_  
_And watched the birds fly;_  
_Then on blackberries fed,_  
_And strawberries red,_  
_And when they were weary_  
_'We'll go home,' they said._

_Poor babes in the wood!_  
_poor babes in the wood!_  
_Oh! don't you remember_  
_those babes in the wood?_

_And when it was night,_  
_So sad was their plight,_  
_The sun it went down,_  
_And the moon gave no light!_  
_They sobbed and they sighed_  
_and they bitterly cried_  
_and long before morning,_  
_they lay down and died._

_Poor babes in the wood!_  
_poor babes in the wood!_  
_Oh! don't you remember_  
_those babes in the wood?_

_And when they were dead,_  
_the robins so red,_  
_brought strawberry leaves_  
_and over them spread_  
_And all the day long,_  
_on the branches did throng,_  
_They mournfully whistled,_  
_And this was their song:_

_Poor babes in the wood!_  
_poor babes in the wood!_  
_Oh! don't you remember_  
_those babes in the wood?*_

"We're those babies," she would say. "But someday we're gonna be the robins."

Where had he learned it, he didn't know.

"Your father sang it to you, when you were very little, before he started beating you."

"Don't do that."

"I cannot stop. Your memories are too sweet not to taste."

Clint tried to push himself up, furious.

"I explored, but I did not take. You would know if I did."

"Would I?"

"Yes." The mummy shifted Loki so he was more cradled in her arms. "He seems peaceful, does he not?"

Clint looked at Loki. The boy's eyes were closed. His face pale, breathing deep, limp in the mummy's arms. "No. I don't think so. He's far too still."

"You have good insight. Or experience with nightmares yourself? Yes, that is it. You are thinking of your own nightmares." She leaned forward, pressing fingers against Clint's forehead. He flinched back, but his body was still too heavy to move properly. The mummy withdrew. "He has nightmares every night, same as you."

"What are they about?"

"Mostly his brother. Killing him. Much like you dream of killing your sister-"

"Shut up."

Silence.

"Why did he-"

"The song was the only comfort he had, Clint Barton. Is that not why you sang? To comfort him, because you could not push the words through your lips, afraid they would sound stale? He would not have accepted them. But the song…"

"Did you take it?"

She began stroking Loki's hair again. "To one who cannot feel of their own self, love and hate are the same. The pain was enough. We listened to your song together, until he fell asleep."

Loki whimpered, stirring. The heaviness in Clint's body was dragging him down again. He couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Poor child," the red mummy murmured as Clint lost his grip on the waking world. "His mother just told him that she has no use for a monster son…"

#

"How long have we been here?" Clint asked Loki, carefully pushing himself despite the protest of his strained and bruises muscles.

Shrug.

"You're really helpful, you know that?"

Loki hesitated, and slowly opened his mouth. But before he could speak, a noise sounded in the main room of the mummy's tomb.

"You are not permitted-"

Clint sprang to his feet as he heard a blaster discharged. His head pounded, and the world swung around. Before he could regain his senses, a Kree was in the small room. Ver-Men's teeth were bared savagely as he slammed the butt of his blaster to Clint's head. The archer fell hard. He heard Loki scream.

"Bring the human," Ver-Men ordered.

Clint was kicked in the stomach and then dragged to his feet. Ver-Men was holding Loki to his chest. The boy shivered violently, but he didn't fight. Paralysed by fear? _Probably_.

"You thought you could escape, did you?" Ver-Men snarled as the Kree dragged Clint over a dead guard. "You should have killed yourself while you had your chance, human. I am not going to be so easy on you!"

Loki suddenly lashed about, grabbed at Ver-Men's face. The Kree recoiled, but Loki's small fingers caught his ear. Ver-Men shouted in pain. He dropped the boy, clutching at his head. Clint saw something dark in Loki's hand. Clint kicked out the knew of one of the Kree, and used his weight to threw the other into Ver-Men. He snatched Loki up, but Ver-Men had recovered. A fist caught his throat. The other Kree ripped Loki away again. Twisted him to the ground. Fists, feet connected chest, head, neck.

"Stop!"

The Kree backed off. Clint looked up to see the seven red mummies standing in a circle around them.

"You've interfered enough," Ver-Men snarled at them. He had Loki again, holding his tightly around the chest, pining his arms to his sides. "The titan wants him and the titan will have him."

"You could still die today," the mummies replied.

Clint pushed himself to his feet and, with a fist to Ver-Men's nose, took Loki back. The kree stumbled back. He started forward, lips curling, but stopped suddenly. He whirled on the red mummies.

"I don't care!" he snapped. His ear was missing, nothing left but a clump of black on the side of his face. "He is _mine_! Mine to do what I will with him!"

Clint stepped back, shielding Loki with his arms, wondering who Ver-Men was talking about.

_Hold your ground,_ the order came through hard, rooting Clint to the spot.

"You might have power in this pathetic world, but if you deny the Titan his prize he'll slaughter you all," Ver-Men continued. "Where will your memories be then?"

The red mummies seemed to shiver; a few of them began to sway while others stayed perfectly still. It was like watching a bizarre dance. _They're arguing,_ Clint realised.

"You will stay," one of them said eventually. "None shall leave this place. We will deliberate."

They turned as one. Ver-Men sneered at them and then took a step towards Clint and Loki. The last of the mummies stopped him with a hand to his chest.

"We will deliberate. You will wait."

**#**

***First published as an anonymous broadside ballad, printed by Thomas Millington in Norwich in 1595**


End file.
